


Something Just Like This

by hanaki



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alpha Solas, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consent Issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Lavellan, Slow Burn, Varric Tethras is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaki/pseuds/hanaki
Summary: Solas is not just the Dread Wolf; he is an alpha, which meant far more in the days of Arlathan. These days alphas and omegas were just another forgotten bit of lore that the Dalish mangled in their tales. Another unforgivable side effect of creating the Veil that would only be corrected when he tore it down.Or so he believed before Lavellan came to bear his mark. Suddenly things are much more complicated than he anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, thanks for checking this story out! This is my first attempt at writing in the DA fandom, and I'm pretty excited. I'm aiming to post this one in a few long chapters rather than a bunch of short ones. If you bear with me, the straight from game dialogue won't be as prominent after the first few scenes. The story will be relatively canon compliant for a while, but it will inevitably branch off as the plot develops. 
> 
> There will be no non-con or dub-con in the fic, but there are some consent issues that come up, hence the tag.
> 
> Thanks again, and I hope you like it!

It was not supposed to happen this way.

An explosion was one thing—expected, given the circumstances. A breach in the sky was another thing entirely, as was the apparent sole survivor of the blast. None should have withstood the blast caused by unlocking his orb; not a Dalish elf, and certainly not an ancient Tevinter Magister.

Yet both made it out with their lives, whether the Seeker or Chantry were aware of the second survivor or not. Where Corypheus went was a mystery even to Solas, though he suspected finding out would be a simple matter if he stayed in Haven.

“Solas!” the Seeker exclaimed, a limp body in her arms.

She wasn’t even a mage, he realized, blinking in surprise.

His eyes roamed her body, taking in her small frame as he feigned to look for injuries. There was nothing remarkable about her at all; she was just another shell of his people. The only thing worth noting was the flicker of light pulsating from her left palm, calling to him on an inexplicably primal level. His legs moved before he could will them to stop, drawing him nearer.

“This is her,” he said, hoping it sounded like a question rather than assertion. Cassandra nodded, muttering something about how the soldiers just brought her in from the Conclave. “Lie her down, Seeker. I will look after her.”

Cassandra did as requested, but not without giving the apostate a warning glare. “She must live.”

“So that you may interrogate her.”

“The Divine is dead! We need answers, Solas.”

“And I need space to work,” he countered, meeting her stare head on. “Leave us. I will keep her alive.”

“I won’t be able to stop them should you fail.”

Her tone was that of a friendly warning, but all Solas could hear was the underlying threat. The reminder that he was an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces. That even in a time of war, there was no refuge for those who claimed they meant no harm.

No doubt Cassandra would have no reason to offer him any protection should he fail in this endeavor. As if he needed protection. Even in his weakened state there was little in this world that could truly harm him. Not even the unconscious creature on his bedroll, arching from the surge of ancient magic coursing through her veins.

“I understand,” Solas assured her.

Thankfully, she accepted his words with a long stare and a nod, vacating the room. It may as well have been a part of the dungeon, connected to the cell block. He tried not to think about that as he knelt by his unconscious charge, taking great care not to touch her directly. The magic pulsing from her palm was unstable, and undeniably _his._

Days passed with little change, Solas studying the girl as he went through the same motions any healer would in this age. Soothing magic extended from his will over her body as his hands hovered a safe distance above her limp form. That same magic searching inside her, attempting to discover the cause of her ailment. Each time Cassandra checked in, he continued to perform these tasks until he was at the point of exhaustion, sweat dripping from his brow as he hunched over the woman in frustration.

The solution was simple, but he was stubborn. Proud. Why should an elf of his age caress the skin of this creature? She may as well have been an empty vessel, disrespecting the memory of his people with her believed superiority the same way all Dalish did with their vallaslin and false histories.

“You have one more day before we bring in another healer.”

It took all his will not to snort at the Seeker. “You have no allies among the mages.”

“We need no allies among the mages. The Maker watches over our cause.”

“She lives under my watch. That’s more than most could have managed given the nature of her wounds.”

“You say that, but you won’t elaborate. Where are these wounds you speak of? She showed no sign of injury when my men found her.”

“Do you not see her hand pulsating at this very moment?” Solas responded, raising a brow as it did so on his cue. “Some wounds are not caused by a sword, Seeker. They are not so easily healed.”

“If you could just explain then! What is the light in her hand? Why does it match that in the sky?”

“Those are questions she will need to answer herself. All I can tell you is that the magic at work here is unlike anything I’ve seen in this age.”

“But you _have_ seen it before?”

“In ancient times, during my journeys into the Fade.”

“Then why has she not awakened?”

Because we are not on equal levels, he thought bitterly. He remembered himself before the façade could slip, playing the compliant and complacent apostate to the letter as he met her gaze.

“She strengthens by the hour. One more day, Seeker.”

Cassandra seemed content with his assurance, walking out of the room with nothing more than a nod of approval. Solas turned back to his patient then, letting out a short sigh. There was no other way, then.

He fell to his knees by her bedside, hands roaming a respectable distance above her frame one last time—without the healing energy this time. Had her wounds been physical, that would have been the answer. These injuries were deeper though, permeating a depth none from this world truly possessed.

She was touched by his magic. It was his mark on her hand, rapidly flickering in time with the spike of his heart beat. Even in Arlathan he had never marked one on such an intimate level, yet here she was…as beautiful as any elf he had taken, grasping onto life with a single hand that was lit with his magic. A gift shared among lovers, taken without his consent or the customary bonding that preceded such a mark.

Opposite scents mingling in the air. An undeniable pull between alpha and omega, bringing them together before logic could intervene. Fangs bared, breaking the skin where the omega was most vulnerable and binding the two together irrevocably.

The thought alone stirred something inside him, his cock twitching as he eyed the unconscious form laying in front of him. It was all wrong, like everything else in this world. She did not smell of omega, yet she bore his mark—a magical mark, traditionally given as a sign of protection to a bonded life partner.

A mate.

It was infuriating to think about; this fragment of his people’s history, looking so life like and vibrant when she was _nothing._ Taunting him with thoughts of what may have been had he not chosen to become the Dread Wolf—the rebel who created the Veil and thus destroyed his people.

Was this irony? Had he been any other, this woman could have been the ideal mate. Serene, surely smelling of the forest had she not been born in this age. Instead she was empty, scentless yet dripping with his magic as if it were her birthrite.

Without the bite shared among mates, any magical marking would remain unstable to the point of destruction. Only his touch could sooth her in the meantime, and so he did just that, gasping as his hand fell onto hers for the first time. Her own sharp intake of breath was noted, as was the way her shallow breathing grew stronger by the second.

How she came to bear his mark was a mystery still, but clearly he would have to find out in order to proceed with his plan. That meant staying by her side, as her life would literally depend upon it.

\--

There wasn’t a single Dalish tale she could recall that ended well when it began this way—with an elf held captive by a group of armed shems. The poorly lit room only added to the nightmare, as did the shackles around her wrists. It only took a few minutes before she was forced to her knees, eyes roaming the room in confusion as she tried and failed to remember how she ended up in this predicament.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

Pain racked through her body, her hand flaring up in a light that was eerily familiar. The shem kept talking, speaking of the Conclave, the Divine, and many things that just didn’t seem real. It was impossible to focus on every single word while her heart pounded so loudly in her chest from the sheer adrenaline the pain had caused.

One thing stood out in the shem’s rant though. “What do you mean everyone’s dead?”

They spoke back and forth a short while longer before her bonds were released, some crazy plan taking form. The hooded shem had said they needed her, and the other had agreed to take her along. It all made very little sense still, but her options were limited. If what they were saying was true, she wanted to help in any way she could. At the very least she may find some answers if she tagged along—how she survived when everyone else perished, and what her glowing hand meant.

Plus, if things turned ugly, it’d be much easier to flee if she played along for now. She was a Dalish hunter—a rogue skilled enough in the art of stealth to sneak off should the need arise. The only issue was she was still too weak to be effective. Whatever happened had caused more than just a searing pain in her palm.

Maybe that was why she didn’t notice the bridge destabilizing under her feet as they walked, completely surprised as she and Cassandra tumbled down with the rubble. It took another moment to collect herself, surprised to find her captor already engaged in combat with a demon of all things. After that it was all instinct; she found herself with a set of daggers in hand, jumping into the fray with as much ferocity as she could muster under the circumstances.

There was no _thank you,_ of course. All she got was a sword pointed in her direction after the fight.

“Drop your weapon. Now!”

“Alright, have it your way.”

“Wait,” Cassandra decided, sheathing her own blade. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless. I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

A nice sentiment, but the rate at which this Seeker changed her mind was dizzying. Still, it was better than being weaponless or cuffed, so she offered a polite smile in return. They were stuck together for now, so it was best to keep it civil.

More demons popped up along their path, and this time there was no backlash for leaping into combat. Each swing of her arms had her feeling more alive, like her usual self despite the fact she’d never once fought a demon before that day. Never even _seen_ one, in fact. It was all surreal, but their path also felt right.

Like they were headed in the correct direction somehow.

“We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting!”

“Who’s fighting?” she countered, not slowing their pace.

“You’ll see soon. We must help them,” Cassandra told her.

Curiosity only seemed to add more speed to her step, an unexpected scene unfolding as the pair finally arrived at this ‘rift’. It was bizarre—a green tear in the sky, smaller than the breach above the Conclave yet the same color. Demons were coming from the rift as well, already being engaged by the people Cassandra must have meant.

A dwarf, two shems, and an elf.

They didn’t even really need the help from the looks of it, the dwarf picking off the demons the shem soldiers had engaged one by one with the largest crossbow she had ever seen. The elf wasn’t exactly struggling himself, clearly a talented mage in his own right.

That didn’t stop the pair from aiding the group against the demons, though it was barely a fight at that point.

“Quickly, before more come through!”

Her hand tingled as the elf took it into his own, raising it toward the rift without another word. He held it there, and for the first time since awakening, it didn’t hurt when her hand lit up with that peculiar glow. Her entire being felt energized from head to toe before that same energy somehow became channeled through the mysterious mark on her hand, shooting toward the rift with more force than she’d ever felt.

Surely it wasn’t supposed to feel this way. This exhilarating. Every nerve in her body felt like it was singing, electrified by the pulse making its way through her. She was no mage, and thus had never cast an actual spell, yet…

Just like that, it stopped, the elven mage dropping her hand as the rift in the sky was sealed away. The intense look she had witnessed faded from his face almost instantly, and as she took a moment to catch her breath, she wondered who this man was.

“What did you do?” she asked instead, holding her marked in hand in the other as it pulsed one last time.

“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

She looked down at her hand in disbelief, yet the proof was still there etched on her skin. “At least this is good for something.”

“Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand,” he revealed, his voice far more soothing than it should have been under the circumstances. “I theorized the mark may be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.”

Cassandra decided to rejoin the conversation at that point, but her words were lost in the air. All she could do was study the elf in front of her, struck by his demeanor. There was just something off about it—the way he held his hands in front of his body, bowing just slightly in a humble gesture toward the Seeker.

It matched the behavior of a city elf, which made sense given lack of vallaslin on his face, yet this elf…Something in his aura distinguished him from either group. His presence was that of an elf who would bow to no one, and his combat style supported that. As was the way he’d grabbed her hand like he owned it, pointing it toward the sky without a moment’s hesitation.

“Varric Tethras,” the dwarf announced, finally drawing her attention away from the elf. “Rogue, story teller, and occasionally unwelcomed tagalong.”

She smirked as she caught the wink Varric gave Cassandra, already deciding she was going to like this one. “Are you with the Chantry, or…?”

The elven mystery nearby snorted. “Was that a serious question?”

“Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

That seemed to offend Cassandra, the two immediately bickering about the Divine and what was happening in the valley. It was relevant to their apparent mission, but that didn’t stop her mind from wandering back to the elven mage. If Varric was a prisoner like her, then maybe this elf was in the same situation—playing along with the shems while trying to figure out what was happening.

His eyes were already on her as she glanced over, face reddening as he smiled for the first time. It was almost indulgent, like he didn’t blame her for zoning out their companions’ exchange.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

“Ellana,” she said in return.

“I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means,” Varric interjected, “I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.”

She raised a brow at the elf. What did that even mean? “You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

When Cassandra responded instead of Solas, she knew it was futile to try to get too many answers in front of everyone. They needed to press forward for now, and later—when they were alone? That was when she’d approach Solas about all this.

\--

Grabbing Ellana’s hand had been a mistake.

There had been one rule he had set for himself after easing her pain enough to ensure her survival, and it was a very simple rule: don’t physically touch her again unless the mark was about to consume her. Considering the fact he’d lived thousands of years without succumbing to his body’s desire to mate, it hardly seemed an unreasonable expectation.

How was it he hadn’t even lasted a single interaction?

He’d done so well getting out of the room before she woke up, no matter how difficult it had been. Every alpha instinct in his body demanded he stay by her side until she was well, determined to watch over the one who bore his mark. It was a testament to his resolve that he managed to leave as her mark temporarily stabilized under his caress, giving him time to notify Cassandra before leaving Haven with Varric.

The dwarf was setting out to aid in the fight, and while Solas knew it was a futile effort without the appropriate magic, he also knew he needed to get as far from Ellana as possible. To get his mind off things, if nothing else. The fighting certainly helped, though he’d barely lasted a minute before reaching out for her once she arrived and the last demon fell.

“There was no time,” he told himself, pacing outside his temporary Haven home with his hands behind his back.

Perhaps he could have instructed her to raise her hand rather than taking it and showing her without a word, but would she have agreed without question? The way she _looked_ at him…It was clear she felt their connection even if she didn’t understand it. There were questions in her eyes. Questions that would have taken too much time to deflect in the heat of battle.

And then she collapsed _again_ after failing to seal the Breach. A troublesome development.

“Easy there, Chuckles.”

Solas halted where he stood, eyes falling on Varric immediately. “Has she awoken?”

“I saw her headed to the Chantry myself,” Varric responded, folding his arms across his chest when Solas fought off a frown. Of course she went to the Chantry first—Cassandra would’ve demanded it. Still, it was disappointing somehow. “You know, if you want to see her so bad, you could’ve just stayed with her.”

“It is not her I wish to see; I simply have an academic interest in the mark.”

“Right. The mark. You could’ve seen that if you stayed, too.”

“There is little else I may have learned while she slept.”

“What _did_ you learn, then?”

Solas assessed the dwarf a moment, debating his answer. Every word he chose since awakening was carefully chosen, helping him build the character he had chosen to portray. An unassuming apostate with enough expertise on the Fade to feel obligated to help in some way despite a healthy reluctance to be surrounded by Chantry forces. Most people seemed to steer clear of him as a result, only approaching when it was necessary or when Cassandra commanded it.

Varric was a bit of an anomaly in that regard. Not only would the dwarf approach as if they were regular comrades, he would ask questions beyond the realm of Solas’ ‘expertise’—it would always start on topic, as was his current question, and then veer off depending on how Solas answered. Then these answers would be spun into tales the dwarf told around camp or at the tavern in an attempt to ‘show everyone there was nothing to worry about’ when it came to their local elven apostate.

“I made no new discoveries,” Solas decided. “It was as before.”

“Before as in, right after the explosion?”

“Yes.”

“She was out for two days after that. This time she was out for more than a week.”

“This time she prevented the Breach in the sky from growing.”

“And last time?”

“We do not know what happened last time; only that it resulted in her obtaining the mark.”

Varric persisted, “Three other healers went in there and she didn’t even twitch. You went in and she was on her feet an hour later.”

“Those _healers_ sprinkled holy water on her body and poured minor potions down her throat—healing potions that mend physical wounds. The damage done to Ellana was not strictly physical.”

He was only a little bitter when he spoke, and thankfully Varric didn’t comment on it. The first time around, no one wanted anything to do with healing the elven woman they believed had caused the destruction of the Conclave. It was only Solas’ insistence that Cassandra seek answers before passing judgment that swayed the Seeker to let him help the prisoner.

This time around, she was the Herald of Andraste—the chosen one who reached toward the sky and saved the village. There was a line of potion makers and believers who wanted to save the one who saved them all. It wasn’t until they all failed that Cassandra called upon Solas to look in on her.

Fools.

“You think she’ll say yes to all this?” Varric wondered. “The Inquisition?”

“The Breach threatens us all. It’s in her own best interested to cooperate for the time being.”

“I hope so. She may be the only one who can stop all this.”

“Indeed.” A familiar pull in the air acted as a signal beacon, alerting him to what could only be Ellana’s presence. It was another testament to his resolve that he remained impassive as he eyed Varric, showing no signs of impatience as it drew nearer yet. “If there’s nothing else, I have other matters to attend to.”

“Right. See you around then, Chuckles!”

With that, the dwarf turned with a wave, not bothering to glance back as he made his way toward his preferred area of Haven—right in the middle, where he could see everyone coming and going. Solas remained in his own corner, looking in the direction where he knew Ellana would approach. It was only a matter of minutes before he saw her, their connection slowly filling the air until it surrounded them both when she was an arms length away.

“The chosen of Andraste. The blessed hero sent to save us all.”

“Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

“I would have suggested a griffin, but sadly, they are extinct.” He paused there, whimsical flashes of a time that seemed so recent flashed before his eyes. These were the moments when he nearly forgot how many ages had truly passed during his slumber. “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.”

“Posturing? Is that why you saved me, then?” she asked, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I couldn’t allow the Herald of Andraste to perish when the fight has barely begun.”

“No, I suppose not.” Ellana paused there, the lightness in the air twisting into something far darker—a confusion masked in bitterness. “Last time I walked through this town they were calling for my execution. Now they call me their Herald.”

“Historically, humans aren’t known for patience when it comes to determining the guilt of an elf.”

She shook her head in acknowledgment. “They told me you were the one who saved me. Again.”

“That is one way to put it.”

“How would _you_ put it?” Ellana countered, curious.

“Your body was adjusting to the mark initially. I merely expedited that adjustment with a spell I learned in the Fade.”

“And this time?”

“I fear you give me credit where none is due. The holy water was likely the cause of your speedy recovery.”

She laughed, the sound far more pleasant than he would admit. “You know, I don’t even believe in Andraste. The only reason I know about her is because my Keeper had me read the stories before going to the Conclave. All I was supposed to be doing was finding out how much longer this war would go on for.”

Solas hummed in acknowledgment, already having guessed as much. “I suppose you believe in the Elven gods?”

“Of course.”

He looked over the vallaslin on her face, an irrational flare of annoyance taking hold inside him as it occurred to him he wasn’t the only one who’d marked her pale skin. Mythal. The fact she was a ‘god’ Solas had once called friend did little to sooth him in this, his own palm flickering with energy. Any gifted with the magic of Fenharel should not dare to bear the mark of another—especially not a slave marking.

It would be a simple matter to remove the vallaslin.

Thankfully he had more self-control than that, the magic subsiding inside him as he exhaled a long breath. A simple minded Dalish elf could never understand the gravity of such an indiscretion. Even with his magic coursing through her body, she would not forgive such behavior at this point in their acquaintance.

“Solas?” Ellana all but whispered, eyes soft with concern. It was enough to take the tension from his posture, snapping his train of thought. “I’d be interested in hearing your opinions on Elven culture.”

“I thought you’d be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions of Elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?”

“What’s your problem with the Dalish? Allergic to halla?”

“They are children acting out stories misheard and repeated wrongly a thousand times.”

That soft look hardened in an instant. “Oh, but you know the truth, right?”

If only she knew. The wolf inside snarled at her tone, and it had been so tempting to voice that growl; to have her submitting to him and offering apology. It was _his_ mark on her left hand, and while she may not be aware of that fact, an instinctive part of her knew or she wouldn’t have approached in the first place.

“While they pass on stories, mangling details, I walk the Fade. I have seen things they have not.”

“The Dalish are trying to restore Elven history. If you know something new, share it.”

Typical. The Dalish always claimed to desire knowledge, yet they were so selective about what and who they chose to believe. Liar. Fool. Madman. He’d been called many things since awakening, and for a time it grinded away at him. No more, though. Now it simply reaffirmed his beliefs and intentions.

These elves were not his people, no matter how striking the physical resemblance was. She was no exception.

“How many Dalish would listen? Most care little about improving their lives. They already consider themselves perfect, the sole keepers of elven lore.”

“You insult my people.”

“They insult themselves.”

She huffed at that, eyes narrowing. Whatever harsh words were on her mind never made it past her lips as he returned the sharp glare. It wasn’t until she stormed away that he let out the frustrated growl that had built up inside him.

\--

If it weren’t for her hand pulsing periodically as she traveled the Hinterlands, Ellana would have questioned how she ended up in such a situation. Travelling unfamiliar territories in the midst of a war—her companions a strange mix of races. A stranger mix of characters, when she thought about it.

A surface dwarf who preferred writing and storytelling over his work with the merchant’s guild. A Seeker who chose her beliefs over her order. An elf who would rather mingle with spirits than his own people.

Really, a Dalish elf had no place among them until the glowing hand was taken into consideration. Before going to the Conclave, the only time she spent away from her clan was when she was hunting. Maybe she hunted more than most, but still. She missed the freedom of returning to her family whenever she chose.

“Do you ever get homesick, Varric?” she wondered, helping him pull out the supplies to make their latest camp.

“Kirkwall will always be my home,” he responded easily, “but it’s not like I was kidnapped and forced to be here.”

“Weren’t you?”

“Was I?” A moment later he cracked a grin, winking at her. “I guess we’re in the same boat then.”

“Well, I wasn’t kidnapped. Captured is more like it.”

“But then you had the chance to leave, and here we are,” Varric reminded her. “To answer your question, I do miss Kirkwall. I need to see this through before going back though.”

For a self-proclaimed liar, it was a bit of a surprise to hear something so candid from Varric. She found herself nodding with empathy, understanding the feeling all too well. Thankfully the dwarf seemed to notice her mood change, the way he always seemed to be able to read people. He didn’t return the question or pry.

Not with Ellana, at least.

“How about you, Chuckles?”

She actively looked away from Solas as she felt the elf turning toward Varric, pretending to focus on pitching the tent rather than hearing the answer. As much as she was curious to learn more about her fellow elf, she also wanted nothing to do with him—not after the way he spoke to her about her people.

Cassandra was kinder than expected, and Varric more fun. Solas? He was just a bastard.

“I grew up in a village to the north,” Solas revealed slowly, his voice somehow demanding her attention despite her effort to ignore him.

“I think you missed the point of the question.”

Solas shrugged. “There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic.”

“So you don’t miss it?”

“I preferred the time I spent in the Fade. My true home was one I found years later, after leaving my hometown.”

“And where’s that?” Varric pressed.

“Arlathan.”

Ellana couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping at that point, turning to face Solas directly. He was holding Varric’s gaze, the two silently assessing one another until Varric began to laugh.

“And that’s why I call you Chuckles.”

She watched the slightest smirk pulling at the corner of Solas’ mouth as Varric got back to work, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. He set back to work himself, ignoring her entirely as he used magic to pitch his own tent in record time. It was only a matter of time before Cassandra insisted the mage help with the rest of the tents after seeing such a display, and so Ellana stopped fiddling with her supplies.

She was outright staring now, catching herself a moment too late. What was it about this elf? No matter how pretentious he was, there was just something about him that captured her attention.

“Have you really been there?” she asked, not quite meeting his eyes. “In the Fade?”

“Many times,” Solas responded.

“What was it like?”

“Perhaps you should tell me. The Dalish have plenty of lore on the subject.”

“Truly? We’ve been traveling together for weeks now and we can’t put this behind us?”

“You ask for my expertise when it suits you, then dismiss it when it does not confirm your beliefs. I see no point in wasting my time.”

Her heart sank in her chest, disappointed even as the offense flared inside her. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

“Precisely.”

She felt like a scolded child, lowering her head with an apology on the tip of her tongue. Clearly her people had wronged him at some point—maybe not _her_ clan, but maybe not all Dalish clans were like hers. Was it her responsibility to apologize for their behavior?

 _No,_ she decided, though she was prepared to do just that when she chanced a glance up at him.

It was probably for the best that Cassandra chose that moment to interrupt them, asking for Solas’ assistance with the rest of camp. They’d had a very long day, encountering more templars and rogue mages than Ellana could count. The fact that Solas had any mana left was impressive, and he wasted no time at all excusing himself from her presence to use whatever he had left.

There weren’t many times when they were in combat that she could just watch Solas cast, too busy jumping in with her daggers and taking on her own opponents. Seeing him now was eye-opening, the grace and ease in his movements magical in a different sense of the word. Everything he did looked so effortless—simple even when he was raising heavy supplies like they were feathers.

“You know, this is almost like something in one of my novels,” Varric told her.

“What do you mean?” she replied, not tearing her gaze away just yet.

“You two. All the glaring and staring—it’s not very subtle.”

“What would happen next, then? In your novel.”

“Enemies to friends. Friends to lovers,” Varric responded easily. “Something tells me this one’ll write itself. Dramatic with a happy ending.”

“You heard us talking. He wants nothing to do with me unless it’s related to the mission,” she reminded the dwarf.

“And you _still_ haven’t looked away.”

She blinked, hand pulsing as Solas did one last flourish of the wrist to complete his task. The green light seemed to catch the attention of both the mage and Cassandra, one far more concerned than the other.

No surprise that Solas was the unconcerned one, not even showing his usual curiosity. He didn’t look away until the pulsing stopped though.

\--

She had no idea, and it was infuriating.

Each day she would approach on the verge of apology, only to be dismissed with a simple reminder that they need not get along. They were comrades, not friends—outside the mission, there was no need for them to communicate. For both their sakes it would be much easier that way even if it felt impossible.

The way she watched him, unwittingly drawn to the one whose magic marked her. So beautiful, yet so unaware. It was far easier to think of her as just another pretentious Dalish—the exact reason he allowed a simple cultural conversation to turn into an unforgiven dispute. She would’ve been by his side every moment otherwise, a formidable force he wouldn’t have had the will to ignore.

Thinking about the way she moved made his cock twitch, from the sway of her hips to the swing of her dagger. She was truly remarkable for one from this age. Fierce and fearless, willing to make difficult the decisions. Between that and the way they were drawn together by the mark, she was already proving to be more distracting than he’d care to admit.

“So what _is_ elfroot, anyway?”

Solas raised a brow, consistently surprised with Varric’s miscellaneous questions. “It is an herb most commonly known for its medicinal properties.”

“Why the name though? Does it do something different for elves, or is it the shape?”

“Neither. Its well-known uses were first discovered by an elven healer.”

“Would you drink it in a tea?”

He snorted, the thought of _any_ tea unappealing—particularly an elfroot. “No. There would be no health benefit after heating it, and the herb itself is bitter in taste.” It was almost possible to hear the wheels turning in Varric’s head, and against his best interest, Solas had to know, “Why do you ask?”

“Ellana’s been drinking it. I thought maybe it was an elf thing.”

That made little sense, and Solas found himself shaking his head. “It is not. I will ask her about it.”

Probably some ill-conceived Dalish practice in which they celebrate the most common plant in Thedas simply because it had the word _elf_ in its name, but who knew? Maybe she wasn’t feeling well and believed a tea would be as potent as a health potion. That or she may use the herb as a bitter undernote among other herbs to create a more enjoyable flavor.

Doubtful, but possible.

“Where is she?”

“She’s been holed up in her tent all day. Whatever’s been going on must be getting worse, but she said no when I asked if she needed anything.”

That piqued Solas’ interest, and before he could think better of it, he was moving toward her tent. They’d been traveling together for weeks and weeks now, and she’d never required any extra rest. If anything, Ellana was the type to push when most would stop, leading their group without yet being named leader.

“Lavellan?” Solas called in just loudly enough for her to hear.

“Not now, Solas.”

Her voice was distant, far too defeated. “Are you unwell?”

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

“I’m coming inside,” he declared, doing just that before she could object. There was a bit of grumbling, but to his surprise, that was all. A moment later he could see why—the poor thing was curled up on top of her bedroll, hugging her knees to her chest. “Are you injured?”

A green hue filled the tent, and he realized the answer as she whimpered. He dropped to his knees beside her without thought, running his hands a safe distance over her body as the healing magic poured from his fingers. It did nothing, of course, but he had to do _something._

“I’ll be fine, I just need to rest a bit longer.”

His mind was reeling as the mark flared again, watching as her back arched while she cried out in pain. It had stabilized significantly after their attempt to seal the Breach, only illuminating for two reasons after that day—the presence of a rift, or in response to his presence.

Theoretically, a mark like this could be sustained without a bonding bite for at least one year before it took its toll on the bearer. So long as he stayed in close proximity at least, as the mark essentially anchored her to him.

Had he miscalculated again?

“Is this why you’ve been drinking elfroot tea?” he wondered.

“It’s something my Keeper taught me.”

“It won’t help with the mark.”

“That’s not why I drink it.”

Some ridiculous Dalish tradition then. While he was tempted to press the subject or explain why it was meaningless, now wasn’t the time. Before he could ask her to close her eyes, she already had, whimpering again as the mark sparked erratically. Whether she was coherent or delirious was up in the air still.

“I need you to relax a moment,” Solas directed, not hesitating to brush the hair from her brow.

He couldn’t even regret it, watching in awe as this beautiful creature calmed under his touch. The mark continued to glow despite the effort, and in that moment he knew exactly why. He could _feel_ it pouring off her, confirming something that had already crossed his mind on more than one occasion.

Ellana was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Day after day they traversed the Hinterlands, helping anyone who asked—rising above and beyond what anyone in the Inquisition expected of her. Their reputation had grown tremendously as a result, which only seemed to multiply the cries for help from other areas of Thedas. From the Storm Coast to Val Royeaux, the Herald of Andraste was in constant demand. Even Haven had unresolved issues each time they returned, occupying her every night and day.

It was far too much for any normal person to handle, and it became clear to Solas; his mark wasn’t unstable or dangerous in that moment…it was simply forcing her to take a much needed break.

The tent opened as he debated his options, but he didn’t look away from her. It was obviously Cassandra’s turn to check on their Herald. “How is she, Solas?”

“Leave us.”

“Is she okay?” Cassandra pressed, insistent.

“Yes. Now leave us,” he repeated firmly, a protective instinct flaring inside him as he heard the shuffle of her boots stepping in closer.

The warning growl in his throat stayed there as she thought better of it and left, turning into one of frustration as it escaped him. Elanna’s body curled toward his at the sound, and he allowed it this time. Delirious was the correct answer, and she was barely conscious now. No doubt she’d forget whatever transpired in this tent.

“Rest now, Lavellan,” Solas whispered, settling more comfortably by her side.

Lying down would be inappropriate, but there was no real harm in sitting with her. She drew closer and closer still, instinct taking control as her conscious mind drifted further and further away. By the time she was done moving, she was using his thigh as a pillow while he sat cross legged, her marked hand thrown lazily over his knee. He reached for it in that moment, lacing their fingers just loosely enough to appease their connection.

Perhaps distance wasn’t a sustainable strategy after all.

\--

Seven more days, wasted. And this time she was only in and out of consciousness for one of them! It was a serious problem because there was just too much to do. One minor lapse in the Hinterlands, and the next thing Ellana knew her comrades were all insisting they go back to Haven for a few days.

Oddly enough, it was at Solas’ suggestion.

Memories of the day they spent holed up in that tent brought heat to her cheeks, though she couldn’t quite understand why. She’d been having the strangest dream about him, and then came back to reality to find she’d almost crawled into his lap. He was wide awake as her eyes flickered open, dabbing a damp cloth on her forehead with the same intense stare as always.

The position had been intimate, but it was Solas. Everything about that moment was somehow clinical despite how it made her heart race.

“We should get going,” Ellana told Cassandra, growing more impatient each hour.

“If you want to leave, you need to ask Solas if you’re safe to travel again,” the Seeker insisted. “I won’t risk another incident.”

“You realize I’ve been on my feet for days now, right? That I could just leave on my own?”

“I do realize, but I also know you won’t. Not without Varric at least, and I still keep a close eye on him.”

Ellana couldn’t hold back her smirk. “I’m sure he loves that.”

“He only acts as if it bothers him. If he were truly upset, he wouldn’t allow it.”

“You know you can trust him, right? He’s in this with us.”

Cassandra’s expression softened. “I do know. I keep an eye on him for his own benefit.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise Ellana, and something told her there was _another_ story behind that. She’d have to ask Varric sometime—he was much better with stories than Cassandra.

“You’re really going to force me to talk to Solas?”

“He’s done well keeping you alive. When it comes to your health, he seems to know you better than you know yourself, Herald.”

She huffed. “We’ll see about that.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to offer a rare laugh as Ellana turned with a wave, headed back to the residential side of Haven with purpose. No doubt Solas would be where he always was, alone in contemplation. Then he’d claim to be busy and insist she leave him be, like usual.

Sure enough, there he was—hand on his chin as he debated whatever it was that went on inside that beautiful, bald head of his. Gods, it wasn’t fair someone so rude could look like that. There were still times she found herself staring just to discern what it was about him.

He was undeniably handsome, but there was always something _more_ when she looked at him.

His clothing was plain and unassuming. His one accessory was ironic for someone who mocked Dalish tradition, and sometimes he held his staff as if it were a walking stick. Looking away from this elf should have been a simple task when his superior attitude was taken into consideration, yet so often she found she couldn’t do that.

She wanted him on every mission and every adventure, and he always said yes despite it all.

“Herald,” Solas greeted with a nod. She nodded back, not even bothering to speak yet. “Are you well?”

“I’ve been well,” she responded tentatively.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m just surprised you haven’t found a reason to send me away yet. Unless you’re about to tell me to go rest?”

“You appear stable on your feet. I assume by your tone Cassandra sent you?”

“She seems to think you know my body better than I do.”

Solas blinked, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was trying not to smile. “I would not go that far, though I do seem to prioritize your wellbeing better.”

“There’s a hole in the sky,” Ellana said, gesturing up absentmindedly with her marked hand. “If I’m the only one who can stop it, then I can’t stop.”

“No one is asking you to stop; I’m simply asking you proceed carefully. If you truly are the only one who can seal the Breach, what do you think will happen if you continue to collapse before our task is complete?” The implication set in, a wave of guilt washing over her. “It’s admirable that you wish to help so many, but you must remember yourself.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the mark affecting me?”

“The mark is a part of you now. If you seal three rifts in a single day, it will put a strain on your body the same way liberating three templar encampments drains your stamina. It is only natural such an exertion will tire you, yet you always press onward.”

“I have to press onward.” If she didn’t, who would? “The longer our missions take, the more people get hurt.”

“Recuperating for a single hour after each rift will hardly be a setback in the long run.”

An hour here and there versus a week after falling apart…It was the better option, sure. There was no guarantee she would remember that in the field though. She always _felt_ fine after the rifts even if her body disagreed.

“I will remind you to rest after each rift,” Solas said simply, like he understood her concern without her needing to voice it. “I’m sure our comrades will support this decision.”

“Does that mean we can get out of Haven?”

“You and I have not always seen eye to eye, Ellana,” he began, holding her gaze, “but one thing I have always admired about you is that you are formidable. You do not require my permission to act.”

“Solas,” she muttered. Just the way he said her name was nearly overwhelming, and she was sure he’d never used it before. It was always _Herald,_ with the occasional Lavellan mixed in. There was something much more intimate about this, especially when he still hadn’t looked away. “If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would make that right.”

He let out a short sigh. “The fault is mine for expecting what the Dalish could never truly accomplish.”

“Can we put this behind us then? Honestly, the arguing is almost as draining as sealing the rifts. I’d prefer if we could be friends.”

“I’d like that as well,” Solas said, and to her pleasant surprise it was without hesitation. “If we are to be friends, I would like to make one request.”

“What’s that?”

“A change of scenery. We’ve spent a substantial amount of time in the Hinterlands.”

Ellana held his gaze a long moment before cracking a smile. He was serious, but he was also right. They’d have to go back to finish a few things, but for now? Their reputation was strong enough to get an audience with the Chantry forces in Val Royeaux.

\--

“Stop brooding, Chuckles!”

Solas didn’t bother turning toward Varric, keeping his eyes and mind pointed toward the breach in the sky. “I am not brooding.”

“Every time I come over here, you’re glaring up. I thought only dwarves hated the sky.”

“It is not the sky I glare at; it is the breach.”

“So you _are_ glaring, then?”

He snorted before he could stop himself, finally glancing at the dwarf. “Do you need something, Varric?”

“Just seeing if you’re ready to go.”

“Ah. Time to meet with the mages, then?” he assumed, not having received an actual invitation on their next journey.

They’d done quite a lot over the last couple months—Val Royeaux was just the first of many stops, and they’d collected a series of new companions along the way. From Iron Bull to Sera, it seemed all sorts of characters were willing to join the cause. It was remarkable when he thought about it. Sera was not the type to join causes like this, and Iron Bull admitted deception before he ever swung a sword in the Inquisition’s name.

Another testament to Ellana’s leadership, that she could somehow unite such strange characters under a single cause.

“Yeah. She wants you to come along.” Varric paused, quirking a brow. “You don’t look surprised by that.”

“Lavellan has asked me to accompany her on every errand since her arrival here. It is hardly a surprise.”

“Why is that, anyway? You may be getting along better, but it’s not like you’re best friends. She knows you give her that same look you give the sky every time you think she’s not paying attention.”

Solas shrugged with as much indifference as he could muster. “Perhaps she sees the value in having a mage present. I’ve proven myself useful in combat thus far.”

“Vivienne’s pretty handy in a fight.”

“I am an expert on the Fade, Varric. I don’t claim to understand the decision making of Andraste’s chosen. If it were up to me, I’d only accompany her when there are rifts nearby.”

Varric’s stare hardened in a flash. “She’s a good kid. Most people would’ve run if they got pulled into the middle of all this—and it’s not like her people haven’t asked her to come home. Even they don’t believe she’s more than a prisoner around here.”

“Then her people are more foolish than even I predicted. A spirit like hers could not be kept prisoner. Not even by Cassandra.”

“Careful, Chuckles. That almost sounded like admiration.”

“Is it so difficult to believe? I have seen firsthand what she is capable of. Frustrating though she may be, Lavellan remains our best hope. There is a reason she bears the mark.”

“What reason is that?”

“I don’t yet know; all I can say is, most would have perished in her stead.”

“You know, you’re the only one here whose answers make me want to ask more questions.”

Again, Solas shrugged. “You have a curious mind. You are aware I often know more about our situation than most in the Inquisition.”

“Yeah, yeah. So are you ready to go, or do you need to pack a few things? I’d recommend some shoes this time.”

As if a mage needed such things. Back in his day, he tended to wear battle armor befitting an alpha in his position—such an outfit always came with boots of some kind. The character he had become in this time would not wear such an outfit though. Boots were a luxury when he had barriers to protect his body.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m ready now.”

Varric let it slide without a smart remark, and didn’t bother pestering him much on their trip. A few days later they were back in the Hinterlands, picking up exactly where they left off. Most of the territory had been covered, Inquisition camps scattered throughout. The war was quelled in the area as a result, and seemed to have stayed that way even in their absence.

Peace in the area made traveling much quicker this time around, which was either a blessing or a curse. Less fighting and a quicker arrival at their destination was, of course, a benefit, but the lack of combat or interruption left their time together void of distraction. Varric and Cassandra bickered and bantered the way they always did, unable to resist no matter how they pretended to try.

Unfortunately, that put Solas in a slightly problematic situation. Now that he and Ellana were speaking, he couldn’t help noticing she wasn’t quite as _Dalish_ as he had assumed. She was actually quite pleasant to be around. Far from the arrogant, condescending personality he’d come to associate with the Dalish.

She was interesting. Lighthearted and openminded. Every day she would ask him questions, eager to learn new truths—and their days together were piling up quickly now. Unlike most Dalish, she didn’t quickly dismiss what he had to say on the topic of elven lore or history. In another life, he may even have considered their companionship a friendship rather than a convenience.

Perhaps more, if he were honest with himself. A foolish notion since she was not omega, yet one he couldn’t shake when he felt his mark pulse on her hand every time they got too close. The sensation always brought out what could only be considered primal thoughts.

_Mark. Bite. Claim._

“Solas?”

He blinked his desires away, eyes focusing in on Ellana’s. “Yes?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Glaring,” she responded, far less tentatively than she would have two months prior.

Their companionship wasn’t the only thing that had begun to blossom. It seemed with every victory, Ellana’s confidence grew—really, it was only a matter of time before the humans gave their _Herald_ a title none could dispute.

Inquisitor.

“And now you’re doing the other thing,” Ellana told him, hands on her hip. “You’re looking at me like you know something I don’t.”

“I know many things you do not,” Solas said simply.

“Is there something specific this time?”

“You’ve grown, Lavellan. Few among the Inquisition can match your battle prowess.”

“You’ve been watching that closely?”

He saw the blush on her cheeks, slight though it may be. Every logical thought in his mind told him to end the conversation now—to squash any stray thoughts she may be having. It was surprisingly difficult to voice those thoughts, much to his own frustration.

“Yes,” he said instead, pleased to see the blush deepen. “You train to flick a dagger to its target. The grace with which you move is a pleasing side benefit.”

“So you’re suggesting I’m graceful?”

“No. I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.”

“If you find it pleasing to watch me, why do I catch you glaring so often?”

Solas shook his head. “You are mistaken. Perhaps you spend too much time with Varric—he tends to see the world through a writer’s lens. Narrow eyes or creased brows tend to describe glares.”

“So…you narrow your eyes at me, but you’re _not_ glaring?”

“Correct.”

“Then what is it?”

“When I look at you, I often find myself lost in thought. I am contemplating— _theorizing,_ most days. How did you come to possess the mark you bear? Could another have survived in your stead? There is much to consider.”

She visibly deflated, but held her ground. “That’s all you think about when you look at me?”

“In the moments you describe as glaring, yes. Those are not the only times I look at you.”

“Solas, I—”

“Now is not the time, Lavellan,” he interjected, plain and simple.

She flinched at his words, lowering her eyes and turning her head to the side slightly—just enough to keep his inner alpha at bay, pleased with the sign of submission. She was acting on instinct again, not offering any other signs of awareness. So was he, if he were honest with himself…Even in his time he wouldn’t have allowed such behavior to guide his words or actions.

But this wasn’t his time, he supposed.

“Look at me,” Solas commanded, and so she did. “You speak of my stares as if your eyes aren’t on me more often than not. You seek me out at every opportunity and create conversation where there is none.”

Nothing he said was a question or matter of debate, but she nodded like any good omega would when he paused. Part of him felt sick for using his alpha tone, especially when she clearly knew nothing about her heritage—that he was an alpha, and that she would have been an omega if she’d been born in his time. No beta or alpha would have survived the temple, not if it meant being anchored to an alpha.

It would be kinder in the long run to put a stop to whatever inexplicable feelings she was having.

The natural draw between an alpha and omega was potent enough even without the omega being marked the way she was. Taking advantage of the pull she felt when he knew better was a line he could not cross.

No true feelings could exist between two elves from such different times.

“You are powerful and capable—you bear the mark that could save us all. The Breach is where your focus must remain. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Lavellan,” he said, drawing her attention back up the moment her gaze fell from his. “There is much you do not know about yourself and about our enemy. That must be your priority.”

“I understand.”

The resigned look in her eyes seemed to confirm it, and he knew he had succeeded with his words. She would continue to be drawn to him despite either of their wishes, but she would respect his words and cease with any foolish pursuits.

It was for the best.

\--

Being Solas’ friend was much more difficult than Ellana had anticipated.

Surely it was for everyone’s benefit that they get along since they’d be working together for a while longer, but somehow it had been easier back when he barely acknowledged her existence. It hurt, sure, but it was also inexplicable. He’d dismissed the possibility of friendship over something so petty that it was almost laughable to her—she’d tried and tried to apologize, and he hadn’t been willing to hear it.

This though…

There was a good reason for him to dismiss her now. They were working together to save all of Thedas, and somehow she’d gotten it into her head that it might be a good idea to pursue something more between them. A stupid, stupid decision. It was just so hard now that they were talking—the attraction she’d tried to ignore only grew as they spent time together.

She didn’t even get the words out before he told her not to bother.

He was intelligent and insightful. Always had a solution when they were in a bind, or there was some puzzle to be solved. Of course he knew what she was thinking before she said it. He probably saw the way she looked at him sometimes—the eagerness when her heart was racing, and the way her hand only seemed to glow around rifts and around _him._

It wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Just bring Dorian along when we need a mage,” Varric suggested, and not for the first time.

It used to be he suggested Vivienne, but since they’d gone back to the Hinterlands and met Dorian in Redcliffe, that had changed. He was quite the character and had quickly become Varric’s favorite among the mages in their little group. After what she and Dorian had gone through together in the future, she couldn’t deny having formed a special bond with him as well.

That didn’t mean she was willing to choose anyone else to tag along in Solas’ place. Solas knew about the rifts. He had to be there in case something new happened in their travels. At least that’s what she liked to tell herself every time she got a group together for a new mission. Maybe she’d mix it up a little, giving Cassandra or Varric a much needed break. Not Solas though.

It was a bit cruel when she thought about it; surely Solas needed a break too. He never complained though. Even after her foolish behavior, he still came along at her every request.

“Look, I like Chuckles too—don’t get me wrong,” Varric continued with a grin. “I’m just saying, maybe a little space is what you two need to get things started.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “I appreciate it Varric, but it’s not like we’re going out again any time soon. We have the mages.  This could all be over tomorrow.”

“You don’t look convinced.”

“Last time we tried to seal the Breach, it didn’t exactly work.”

“You said it yourself; we have the mages now.”

Varric’s confident tone didn’t fool her, though she appreciated the effort. It was a reminder how she needed to act when it came to all this. Sure, she could show Varric and the others her vulnerable side, but to everyone else she was the Herald. Whether she believed in Andraste or not, people looked to her for hope.

“You’re right. We’re going to succeed.”

“Of course I’m right. Now come on, let’s get a drink!”

There was no saying no to Varric when he made a suggestion like that, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to this time. Relaxing a bit before the big day sounded like a good idea anyway. It kept her grounded, as Varric liked to say—too many people kept her on a pedestal, and letting them see she was normal benefited everyone.

If the Herald of Andraste was just like everyone else, maybe they did all stand a chance in the battle ahead.

A few hours later she barely regretted her decision as she stepped out of the tavern, the laughter in the air illuminating the night like a sky full of stars. There were too many clouds in the air for real stars to be seen, and as she closed the door behind her she almost immediately sobered.

All that she could see was the Breach.

“Ironic, is it not?”

She didn’t need to tear her eyes away to recognize Solas’ voice, not entirely surprised by his presence. He lived close to the tavern and didn’t require much rest for someone who took naps as a hobby.

“What is?” Ellana asked slowly.

“Often times it’s the most destructive forces that hold the most beauty.”

Ellana hummed in agreement before turning toward Solas, her feet already stepping in his direction before she made the decision to approach him. A typical phenomenon, though she wouldn’t bother to admit it. To her surprise, his eyes weren’t on the Breach as he spoke this time. They were on her, taking in her every move in a way that felt so _deliberate._

It was like he hadn’t been talking about the Breach at all—like his focus was entirely on her.

“What will you do if this all ends tomorrow?” she wondered. “If we succeed?”

“You want to know if I’ll leave,” Solas deduced, unphased as she nodded. “You don’t appear to have had too much to drink.”

She laughed, unsure how that mattered. “No, I haven’t. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Yet you are emboldened to ask questions silly questions. Questions you already know the answer to.”

She smiled a little, relief washing over her as he smiled back. He’d be by her side until they both had some answers about how all this began. The real question was _why._ No doubt if she asked that question, he’d tell her it was simple curiosity—that it was all a part of his interests.

The way he was staring at her right now though…his eyes held a different answer even if it was one he was unwilling to speak.

\--

It had been foolish to hope the power of the mages would be enough to truly seal the Breach, yet he had dared to do so anyway. Perhaps his slumber had done more than dull his power—perhaps his judgment had been compromised. Even with hundreds of mages from this age, and even with one elf bearing his mark, it was futile against the power built up in his orb over the course of millennia.

Only a power equal to that which created the Breach could truly seal it.

Part of him had expected Corypheus to show up during their attempt, creating the ideal opportunity to take back his orb. The Breach wouldn’t have mattered at that point. He could slip away in the night and put this all behind him—truly looking forward for the first time since awakening.

Of course, another part knew that was entirely unrealistic. So long as Ellana bore his mark, he would always look back. What kind of alpha would be if he did not? They were tethered together, at least until his magic became too unstable inside her. A distasteful thought, no matter how inevitable.

He certainly did not relish in the idea that she would be among those effected when he tore down the Veil. Though he could not pinpoint a specific time or day, she’d earned his respect in their travels. It seemed she survived the temple because she was worthy; there was no other plausible explanation.

“She could still be alive,” Varric said, his voice distant despite being so closeby.

“It’s been days!” a dismayed Cassandra exclaimed. “If she’s out there, she’ll have frozen to death at this point.”

“Then why aren’t we doing anything?” Cullen asked, unsheathing his sword like it would make a difference. “We can send out a search party!”

His heart beat anxiously in his chest as they bickered, though he couldn’t say why. Corypheus had made a dramatic entrance into Haven, letting red templars carve the way—but Ellana was fine. She had saved nearly everyone in Haven, and while she had fallen behind, he could feel her drawing closer by the moment. It was faint, but it was present.

“Enough!” Solas declared, raising his voice beyond his usual calm. “Ellana is on her way to us. It would be best to spend our time preparing to treat her.”

“How can you be so sure?” Cassandra asked, as skeptical as always.

“I have spent more time with Ellana than most. I’ve studied her mark and felt her life force beneath my hands. She is alive and will be here tonight.”

Cullen sheathed his blade. “Then we best set up a tent—one where she can recover privately.”

“Agreed,” the Seeker responded.

They were united in their task after that, ensuring a secluded tent was pitched away from the masses that had accompanied them. Cassandra wasted no time telling Solas he would be in charge of Ellana’s care this time, explaining how there was no sense in letting the others try again after what happened last time—days of holy water and _nothing_ when Solas could have healed her in the hour. He agreed easily, exuding as much confidence as was necessary to convince the others he would see the task done properly.

“Solas!”

He was sitting in front of the tent, unphased by the snow as he awaited her arrival. Cassandra’s call to him was not a surprise because he could feel what she was about to say; Ellana was near, and Leliana’s people had likely spotted her by now.

“Do you have everything you need?” Cassandra asked anxiously.

“Yes,” he assured her, and then some. They had brought every herb imaginable to the tent, even ones he would never use or need to tend an injury. Everything inside him told him that Ellana wasn’t actually hurt; just cold and exhausted. Perhaps a bit bruised from being tossed around in the exchange with Corypheus. Nothing his magic couldn’t heal away. “I will make sure she lives, Seeker. All I ask is you give me time. No interruptions. No praying masses waiting outside for her recovery.”

“How long?”

“She’ll need rest even after I tend to her. No one is to disturb her; not even you.”

“I would never!” Cassandra insisted, her fierce stare lightening when Solas just stared back. It was like she was remembering barging into the tent last time Solas was caring for Ellana. “Fine, but you _will_ give us a daily update. Even I won’t be able to keep the others away if you keep them in the dark.”

“Agreed,” he said easily, knowing Ellana would be on her feet in a matter of days anyway. For now, all that mattered was ensuring she had sufficient time away from the pressures that came with being the _Herald._ No doubt her miraculous return from the dead would only fuel the legend she had become. “She’s here.”

Cassandra raised a brow but didn’t get the chance to ask the question as the sound of stunned masses filled the air. No doubt Cullen was carrying Ellana right through them, making a production of her return—likely a thoughtless decision rather than intentional display. Under normal circumstances, moving straight through the camp would have been the quickest way to the tent. It just so happened these were not normal circumstances.

A flicker of impatience flared through Solas as the minutes passed, but he inhaled long breaths to keep it at bay. If he’d been the one carrying her, they would have gone around the camp so the religious fools would be none the wiser. She’d be laying down peacefully while he ran his magic over her, willing every ache and discomfort away from her body. Instead several more minutes passed before Cullen appeared, holding his marked one like the precious creature she was.

It made him want to snarl at the man. He had _no right_ to treat her as such when it was his failures that lead to the attack on Haven in the first place. A military man should have recognized ages ago that Haven was indefensible. Solas had even mentioned it once, offhandedly since he was in no position to explain how he knew so much about strategy or battle.

He bit back his disdain as Cullen carried her into the tent, setting her unconscious body down on the bedding they had laid out. “Do you need more blankets?”

“No,” Solas told him, eyes on Ellana as he spoke. As suspected, there were no visible signs of injury. He kneeled by her side, ready to get started right away. “Leave us.”

“She’s freezing! I’ve never felt skin so cold.”

“If I cover her now, I won’t be able to tend to the bruises. Now go! I must focus.”

His hands lit up at his own urgent words, pulsing green as Cullen exited the tent without another word. Ellana’s marked hand glowed to match, illuminating the tent in a brilliant mingled hue. It was only when he poured his magic into her that the mark relaxed, her body going limp like it knew she could finally relax.

She would always be safest by his side. No doubt their connection left her knowing that on some unspoken level.

“Solas,” she murmured, dazed eyes barely opening.

“Yes, Lavellan. It’s me,” he needlessly confirmed, watching her every movement. It was all very slight, the relieved breath she let out and the way she curled toward him once more. “You are safe.”

“Your magic. It’s the same color.”

He couldn’t suppress a small smile, knowing she would not remember this exchange even if she happened to notice his reaction. “Yes. I am a rift mage, and your magic is linked with the rifts.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we are connected. It means I understand your power more than any other.”

“It protected me. The mark,” she said, her voice quiet and calm. “It kept me warm.”

“Mages often find that their power protects them innately in life or death scenarios.”

“I’m not a mage.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed, watching her curiously. “The power you have been given is still a part of you and will seek to protect you when it must.”

“Solas, you…”

“Rest now, Lavellan. We can talk after.”

“You smell different,” she persisted, blinking like she was trying to will her eyes to stay open. It was not working. “Strange.”

Both brows shot up at that. “There has been little time to bathe since Haven.”

“No, it’s good. I’ve never…”

“You are still recovering, Lavellan. Your senses have not fully returned yet.”

“What’s the moon cycle?”

Solas’ frown deepened with his confusion. “Crescent.”

“Tea. I need my tea.”

“Now is not the time. Water, perhaps—”

“Please, Solas,” she breathed, trying and failing to sit up. Her hand landed on his knee, squeezing as if to convey the urgency her words could not. “Please.”

“Very well. I will make you tea.”

“Dalish tradition…you can’t tell anyone.”

He watched the discomfort etching its way onto her face, growing more alarmed by the minute. “I will not share anything that transpires here with anyone else. What kind of tea is this? The elfroot?”

“Deathroot. I need deathroot.”

“Deathroot is fatal to consume.”

“Not in small doses. Not with elfroot.”

It was beginning to make more sense as she spoke, this strange Dalish _tea_ she was describing. Much like everything else in Dalish culture, it was a half-truth—a fragment of elven history that had somehow become distorted over time. They were truly a foolish people, perhaps moreso than even he had realized.

The way she looked at him at times, unaware of their bond. The way she could smell him now, his scent likely filling the small space of the tent in a way she hadn’t experienced in years. Since whenever it was she began drinking this dangerous concoction.

“You seek suppression.”

“You don’t understand what’ll happen…”

Her breathing was ragged, sweat beading her forehead despite her skin still being far too cold. The first sign of an oncoming heat. Lavellan was not just the descendent of an omega line—she _was_ an omega.

“I will make your tea,” he assured her, another guilt-free lie to add to his list. He rose to his feet, sifting through the herbs and retrieving the elf root. Suppressants in his day were uncommon, but he knew enough to mimic the taste. “Two-thirds elf, one third death?”

“Yes,” Ellana confirmed in a whisper. “Thank you.”

His hand snatched some prophet’s laurel instead, confident the herb would possess that same, sour note that deathroot did. A contrast to the bitter taste of the elfroot, though hardly enough to make it palatable. It would do nothing to suppress the oncoming heat Ellana was experiencing, though it would ease any lingering aches or pains she was feeling.

An omega, all this time. How had he not realized sooner?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos! Glad to see you're enjoying it.

Days passed before Ellana felt coherent, the memories of it all a distinct blur. Walking through the snow. Collapsing more than once. Green bursts of light surrounding her, keeping her warm as she pressed onward even when it felt like she had nothing left. She remembered Cullen carrying her, and the sharp smell in the air as Solas told the commander to leave.

After that, it was all Solas. She remembered feeling his presence—his magic raking over her body, soothing her. The panic she felt as she realized what an inopportune time in the moon cycle it was to lose a battle. How calming Solas’ scent was despite it all. It had been years since she could smell another like that, her senses dulled by the tea she drank regularly.

Gods, her senses were alive now. The tea Solas prepared was either mixed wrong, or just too late—she couldn’t be sure. All she knew was, she was writhing on that bed within the hour and begging Solas to do unspeakable things to her.

Her face was flushed as the fragmented memories replayed in her mind. The arousal that took grip as Solas’ scent all but consumed her. Would he ever be able to look at her the same after that? She’d stripped down within minutes, her clothing itchy and unbearable as her body temperature rose. He’d just stared blankly, unaffected and unflinching as she told him how badly she needed him.

“I’m sorry,” she’d told him at once point, her voice broken as ran her own hands over her desperate body.

Solas hadn’t so much as blinked as she touched herself, fingers running over her dripping core before sliding inside in a poor attempt to fill herself. Even with her heat-addled mind, she could see how hard he was as he watched her near the tent door, catching strong whiffs of his arousal in the air. Yet he hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t touched her or questioned her strange behavior.

“Lavellan.”

She grasped at the blanket that had been thrown over her at some point while she slept, holding it over her naked form as she look at the tent entrance and saw him there—calm, like nothing had happened at all.

“Are you well?” he asked.

“Solas, if you let me explain,” she tried, only for him to shake his head. “Please.”

“There is no need. You were not yourself.”

“I wasn’t. Do you know about this part of our history?”

“I am intimately familiar with it,” Solas responded, vague as always. “I’m more surprised to learn you know of it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you have caught me off guard yet again.”

“Were you a Keeper once?” Ellana asked curiously, piecing it together in her head. It would make sense. Only Keepers and their Firsts exuded the smell Solas did, and only a Keeper would know this particular piece of elven history. Most Dalish weren’t even informed on this subject—only those who were personally impacted, like Ellana. “Did you leave your clan?”

“I left my people, but I was no Keeper. I am an alpha.”

“Alpha?”

“Yes. What rank did you hold in your clan?”

“None,” she shrugged. “I was a hunter like everyone else.”

“Are there many like you within your clan?”

“No. The plagued are only born every few generations.”

“Plagued?” Solas repeated, his stare sharp. “Is that what you think you are? Like it’s some sort of illness?”

“It is. If I don’t drink my tea, I go through bouts of heat every month. Its uncontrollable. Embarrassing! I say and do—”

“Heats are a beautiful experience, and one meant to be embraced by the elven people. Your Keeper has done you a disservice if he allowed you to think otherwise.”

“Says who?” she countered, already knowing the answer. “Did someone in the Fade tell you?”

“No. You are not the first of your kind I have encountered over the years.”

“And these _others—_ they told you they enjoyed the feeling of losing control? Feeling like they need to crawl out of their own skin to get away from it all?”

“They felt no such thing. They embraced their cycle and allowed themselves to be cared for appropriately.”

She frowned, the implication making her heart sink in a way she wouldn’t admit. “You slept with them?”

“On occasion, yes. Only with the proper consent obtained in advance. Heat couplings are a powerful experience to share. Especially as an alpha.”

“You keep saying that word, but what does it mean?” Alpha. Something about it resonated with her, but all she could think was Keeper— _leader._ Those who guided clans and stood without equal among the elven people. Solas’ posture and demeanor was that of a Keeper, as was his presence. “What would you call me, if not plagued?”

“I would call you what you are.”

“And that is?”

“Ellana,” Solas answered, simple yet striking. She smiled without meaning to, the rare sound of her name on his lips as pleasant as always. “You are an omega by nature, but still a person like any other.”

“Did you make the tea the way I asked?”

He shook his head, disregarding the huff she let out. “Suppression is dangerous. You should not consume deathroot, even in small doses.”

“That’s my choice!”

“And it was my choice to ensure your survival. You were freezing; on the brink of death before Cullen brought you to me. It would have taken days for you to recover if you hadn’t gone through a heat. Your own biology brought your body’s temperature back to the appropriate balance.”

“If my Keeper knew, I would be exiled from my clan. To be plagued is one thing, but to disregard tradition? I bared myself to you like a common whore! My people have more dignity than that!”

“There is no shame in being a common whore, nor is there a correlation between being an omega and being a whore. These ideas your people hold onto are disgusting, Ellana. Surely you see that. Surely you know you’re better than that.”

“Do you know what my Keeper would say to me if he knew I allowed myself to go through a heat?”

Solas narrowed his eyes. “I can venture a guess. What is the old Dalish curse?”

“May the Dread Wolf take you.” She shuddered at the thought, the sour scent rolling off Solas doing nothing to ease her dismay. He had no idea what such a curse meant—he didn’t even believe in the gods of their people. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Perhaps we should change topics.”

Ellana let out a sigh, though she couldn’t disagree. “What do you want to discuss?”

“I find it difficult to focus while you are unclothed. The smell of sex has permeated the air in this tent.”

Her face lit up again, heat in her cheeks as she clutched her blanket to her chest just a bit tighter. It was only then that she _really_ looked at Solas, suddenly aware of how closely he was studying her every move. He was taking deep breaths, and it occurred to her that he could smell her in the same strange way she could smell him—far too intently.

Solas wasn’t lying. The scent in the air was distracting him. Arousing him. Her eyes scanned his body, brows raising as she saw the erection he was making no attempt to conceal.

“It has been ages since I was near an omega. Longer still since I was around one during a heat cycle.”

Her mouth was dry as she nodded, wondering exactly what would have happened if she had consented to him before the cycle began—if she’d been open about what she was, and if he’d explained himself a bit more.

There were times when she had tried to breach the subject of the attraction she felt toward him. The attraction she now knew he returned. At the time, he hadn’t wanted to hear it, but now she wondered…

Would he have taken her?

\--

Solas found himself pacing outside Ellana’s tent, not knowing where to begin.

It had been a very long time since he felt so conflicted. His actions and plans were made with precision—they were deliberate and absolute. One omega should not have the power to shake his resolve so easily. If anything, her story should have enraged him further. The elves of this time were clueless about their history. About how the world used to be, and how it would be once more.

Yet instead he found himself piecing it together. Figuring out _how_ the Veil could have resulted in such a distortion of history. Omegas were revered in the days of old. They were sought by alphas and only bothered to suppress their instincts when the age of slavery had begun. When they were commodities rather than people.

_May the Dread Wolf take you._

It used to be a wish for good fortune. Solas had freed countless slaves, and many wished to offer themselves to him freely in the hopes of mating with such an alpha. He’d always been clear he was too focused on the mission to take on a mate, yet he couldn’t deny the existence of such a phrase had elevated his confidence as an alpha.

How had things changed so drastically?

“Solas?”

He looked up upon hearing Ellana’s voice, relieved to see her emerging from the tent fully dressed. She was wearing the same gear she tended to use during their outings—Dalish ‘armor’. It was a gift from her Keeper, she had explained once, which made a lot more sense now. Basically, it was a piece of leather covering her more intimate parts, with chainmail covering the length or her arms and legs. To say it was revealing would be an understatement, though the way Ellana carried herself and moved, he had never thought twice.

Now he knew though. Keepers _._ He’d suspected they were descendants of alphas, but they were more than that. They were actual, repulsive alphas. Perhaps it wasn’t their fault—they’d been fed the false histories over many centuries. Still, they hadn’t questioned any of it. They hadn’t thought to ask if it was right to force the ‘plagued’ to drink _deathroot._

Would-be gods must have been furious about the Veil. They would never ascend to their desired status, instead falling with Arlathan and the elven people. It was no wonder the Dalish clans only ever allowed two or three mages to stay in their ranks—alphas were always mages, and they must have been threatened by the presence of others in such troubling times.

“Tell me, Lavellan. Do your Keepers take mates?”

“They don’t marry. It goes against our traditions.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, then. They don’t elevate any among the clan to a higher position than the rest. We have a Keeper and their First—an apprentice of sorts.”

“Do they have personal relations? Physical, perhaps.”

Ellana frowned, but didn’t shake her head. “I don’t know for sure. There were rumors, but it wasn’t my place to ask.”

“These indiscretions—were they with others like you? _Plagued_ elves?”

“What does it matter? I don’t see the problem with my Keeper having a physical relationship with one among the clan. We all have needs and desires.”

“Would you not consider it a violation of trust if they knew more about these plagued elves and took advantage of that knowledge?”

“I…I don’t know. It depends.”

“Depends on what? Don’t you understand—this attraction between us is instinctive! Alphas and omegas have been drawn to one another since before the days of Arlathan. To suppress your instincts and then pursue you whilst you’re unaware of the reasoning behind the attraction you feel is immoral at best.”

She blinked as she processed the accusation, clearly too overwhelmed to fully understand. “That can’t be what happened.”

“Your Keeper had a relationship, did he not? One you knew of even if it was never official?”

“Yes,” she confirmed slowly.

“And his First—your future Keeper. Were you promised to him?”

“No, not me. I was…”

“You were _what_?”

He watched curiously as her skin grew pale, the color draining from her face right before his eyes. Whatever it was, she was clearly upset over it, his own anger growing by the second.

“I was an extra,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “When he chose me to send to the Conclave, my Keeper said it was because I was one of the top three hunters. He said I would have the best chance of blending in because I didn’t have the same attachments as they others. He made it sound like a compliment!”

“The other two hunters were plagued?”

“Yes. No one else in the clan knew about me, but they were my friends. They were like mentors to me. I wouldn’t be the fighter I am today if not for them!”

“I’ve no doubt that’s true,” Solas assured her, placing soothing hands on her shoulders. “They did not know, Ellana. Your Keeper did not know, truly. History has become more distorted than even I knew.”

“But they never came for me, after the Conclave. They sent a letter, and then I haven’t heard from them since.”

“Come with me.”

He beckoned her to follow, and she did, the confusion she felt pouring off her in waves. Now that she hadn’t taken her suppression tea, it was easy to feel exactly what she was. He was ashamed to admit that he was relieved by this, knowing she would trust him even more now.

When she came to bear his mark, he had told himself he would never take advantage of the draw she felt toward him as an alpha—that he would find a way to do what was best for his cause without playing that card. At the time he hadn’t known she was an actual omega though. Now he would have to be even more careful not to cross any lines, especially when she had witnessed the interest he could no longer deny.

The camp was celebrating Ellana’s survival, and so he led her around the back side to have a private word. It was time she knew a little more about his mission—about his goal. There was only so much he could say, but now was clearly the time to say it.

He extended his will, lighting a nearby torch on the perimeter with Veil fire. “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard won, worthy of pride…save one detail.”

Her eyes were transfixed on the fire for but a moment before they met his, tentative and curious.

“The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carries? It is ours,” Solas explained, noting her every feature as she waited to learn more.

He told her how Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach, causing the explosion at the Conclave. Then he told her how they needed to learn of his survival, warning of the human reaction if they discovered the truth. To his relief, it only made her more curious.

“Such things were foci,” he explained. _His_ foci in this case, went without saying. “They were said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire.”

She hung on his every word, too easy to guide to the next bit of business. If he wanted the people to trust Ellana, she needed to capitalize on her status as Herald. Absurd though it may be, it was working.

For now, they could enjoy the celebration. Tomorrow she would guide them away from this camp though, and toward their future. They would go north, and Ellana would show them the way as if the Divine herself had showed her the path.

“There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisiton can build. Grow.”

A place he once called home during his war on the false gods, traveling the lands to free those who were never meant to be slaves. Never had he imagined it would be home to a cause like the Inquisition, but these were desperate times. Tomorrow they would begin the march to an old fortress that could hold all their forces—humans, dwarves, and elves alike.

Skyhold.

\--

After days of scouring the mountains, they’d found it—the mystery fortress Solas had assured her was empty and awaiting them. It was even larger than she’d imagined, and far more impressive. From the design to the views…how Solas knew of such a place was a mystery, as was the fact it had clearly been uninhabited for years and years.

Perhaps even stranger, within a matter of days it was all _hers._

Inquisitor. That was what they called her now, and she suspected Solas had lead them here with the intention of her taking on that role. She still didn’t quite understand it all—alpha, omega. The way he asked what her rank was in the clan, as if it would be impacted by her status as a plagued elf.

“Do you not have better places to be right now?” he asked as she approached him.

She deserved the bitter question, not having had the chance to visit with him even once since the day they arrived. Her new responsibilities kept her busy, and there were people lining up to meet her now. People who traveled great lengths as if they were on some kind of pilgrimage.

Truth be told, there would have been time still to visit Solas if she had wanted. For the first time, he’d even requested an audience—they had much to discuss, he’d said, letting her know exactly where to find him when she was ready.

There was just too much on her mind. Now that she was in his presence, it hit her all over again.

“Hawke is here,” Ellana told him, and he didn’t seem surprised to hear it. “She has a lead with the Wardens. The council also wants me to go to Halamshiral.”

“To protect the Empress,” he assumed.

“To prevent the future Dorian and I saw.”

“Have you come here for advice? Both seem like logical pursuits.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by,” she told him, caving under the pressure of his gaze. “I needed some time.”

“You need not apologize. I should not have attempted to rush you.”

“All you did was ask me to stop by when I had time. That’s not rushing.”

“If you wish to focus on our mission, I will do so gladly. We can discuss everything else another day.”

She felt the pressure lift from her shoulders as he said it despite the fact she had come prepared to discuss anything he was willing to reveal. “I just got worried. The way you lead us here—the way you always know so much. Sometimes it’s like you’re the one pulling all the strings.”

Solas smiled, allowing his amusement to show for a change. “I am but a humble servant, Inquisitor. Most here question why you keep me around at all.”

“You’re more than a servant, and you know it. I’ve yet to go against any of your suggestions or requests.”

“I am not a member of your council. I hold no position of power in the Inquisition, nor would I accept should it be offered to me. The only request I’ve ever made is to stay among your companions until the Breach has been properly sealed.”

He was right, and deep down she knew it before she even brought it up. There was just something commanding about his presence, and the fact he knew more about why and had never explained…It was troubling. Hadn’t they become friends? She’d opened up to him during their travels. Granted, she hadn’t told him about the tea—not even her closest friends in the clan knew about that though. Not even Varric knew the truth of it, and he was the one she spent most her time with since Solas hadn’t always been amenable to her company.

“Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere,” he suggested, like he could sense her discomfort.

There were too many prying ears among the Inquisition, particularly among her friends. Varric wanted a fun story to tell, Cassandra wanted to keep her safe, and Leliana just wanted to know anything that may be relevant. It was almost like a dream as Solas lead her away from it all, leading them back to Haven—beautiful Haven, fully intact and peaceful.

She took a deep breath as they finally stopped walking, feeling at ease once more. “What does it mean to be alpha? Why can’t I shake this feeling like you’re in charge?”

“You have grown accustomed to alphas leading your people. Your Keeper was an alpha, as was your First. That does not mean I am leading you, nor does it mean you cannot lead me.”

“These _feelings…_ I’ve been drawn to you since the day we met. Is this why? Because you’re an alpha, and I’m an omega?”

“Were you drawn to your First? Attracted to your Keeper?”

“No!” she exclaimed, repulsed by the very thought.

They were brothers to her. Caregivers and mentors. They had a connection, but it was never more than what a family might share.

“Then you have your answers. What you feel for me is _real,_ Ellana. Foolish, but real.”

“Why is it foolish?”

“Because real though it may be, you know nothing about what you are. How it’s influencing what you feel. It’s just as likely you’re drawn to me because I’m the first alpha you’ve met outside your clan, and you’re not accustomed to the sensations that brings.”

“It’s more than that,” she insisted, sure of it. There was something very different about Solas, and she couldn’t quite put her hand on it. “You don’t feel it?”

“That’s difficult to answer. I’ve been watching over you since before you first awakened here—I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor. Every time you fell ill or injured, I was by your side to tend your wounds.”

“What does that mean? That I’ve become a burden to you?”

“Quite the opposite. I insist on being the one to look after you each time something happens,” Solas revealed slowly. “You have no idea how many times I tried and failed to seal the rifts myself. The day you awakened and sealed that rift with a simple gesture…I felt the whole world change.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her own world changing rapidly as she looked at him. Rarely was he so candid about these things, and she would not let this moment pass so easily. “Felt the whole world change?”

“A figure of speech.”

“I’m aware of the metaphor. I’m more interested in what you _felt._ ”

“You change…everything.”

Their eyes locked, and she realized at some point he’d stepped closer. That she’d stepped closer as well. Maybe it was in their nature, or maybe it was instinct—maybe they had just spent a substantial amount of time together and had been drawing closer and closer to this very moment all along. Whatever it was, she knew what she had to do when his eyes flickered down to her lips.

She reached out, turning his head back to her before he could look away. When there was no objection, she tiptoed up and pressed her lips to his, brief and delicate. It left her body tingling from head to toe, but she had no intention of pushing her luck when he didn’t reciprocate.

It wasn’t until she was ready to turn away that he let out a low growl, stilling her instantly. His hands were on her then, pulling her body close to his as he leaned down and brought their mouths together. She gasped as he nipped at her lower lip, his tongue sliding into her mouth as she all but melted into him.

Thankfully his grip was impossible strong, keeping her upright as her knees threatened to buckle.

All too soon, he pulled away, releasing his grip when she was steady. “We shouldn’t. It’s not right, not even here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where do you think we were?”

She blinked, regaining more and more awareness as she looked around. Haven. The racing feeling in her heart slowed as she remembered—the town was no more. “This isn’t real.”

“That’s a matter of debate. Probably best discussed after you wake up.”

The words summoned her awake with a startled breath, and she knew in that moment. Maybe Solas didn’t consider himself to be in charge, but there was no doubt in her mind he held a lot more power than he realized.

There was very little she would be unwilling to do for him.

\--

The kiss had been irresponsible. Impulsive and selfish.

It had also been wonderful. A prelude to what could have been a beautiful relationship in another life. Perhaps this was part of his punishment for creating the Veil and destroying his people. He was being taunted with the omega of his dreams—a powerful woman who had no equal in this world or any other. One who he could no longer deny wanting for reasons that exceeded his mark upon her hand.

She was a force of nature. Perhaps more troubling, she was _real._ A woman who existed in this time who was real. If his world hadn’t already crumbled, his entire reality would have been shaken at this realization. He wasn’t so focused on his mission that he couldn’t acknowledge the odds of her being the only real person in this time were incredibly low.

If she was real, they could all be real. None would stand her equal, but that didn’t mean they had no purpose—no person in their life who cherished them the way he had grown to cherish her.

“It changes nothing,” he told himself, pacing his study anxiously.

And yet it changed everything, just like he had told her.

His entire perspective was shifting, though the end result would have to be the same. Real or not, he had to atone for his crime. Destroying this world to restore his own was a burden he would have to bear, like it or not. It wasn’t as if he’d survive the outcome of that for very long anyway. Even his allies would want his head for what he’d done.

All logical thought left his mind as he felt her approaching, barely ten minutes after their exchange in the Fade. He couldn’t help smirking as he saw the flush on her face. “Sleep well?”

“I’ve never done anything like that before,” she admitted, running a hand through her hair. “On a number of levels.”

The words made his chest swell with pride, pleasing his inner alpha. Turning her away now would be no simple task. “I apologize. The kiss was impulsive and ill considered. I should not have encouraged it.”

“You did kiss me back. If I’m pressuring you…”

“No, you’re not. I am perhaps pressuring myself,” he admitted with a sigh. “It has been a long time, and things have always been easier for me in the Fade.” The hopeful look in her eye nearly made it difficult to continue, “I’m not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

“I’m willing to take that chance, if you are.”

“I…” Why did she have to smell like the forest? Saying no seemed an impossible feat as she stared at him, her bright eyes and small smile captivating him in every conceivable way. Never had he been so tempted by an omega. “Maybe. Yes, if I could take a little time to think. There are considerations.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ellana responded easily, smile growing.

“Thank you. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams.”

“I know the feeling. I’ve been thrown by something every day since I got this mark,” she admitted, raising her hand and staring at it briefly. “It’s almost like I’m dreaming now, and things are normal when I’m asleep—when I’m more than just the one who somehow ended up surviving that day.”

“You are more than that right now, and I’m reasonably certain we are awake.”

“Am I though? Everything I do on a daily basis is done because I have this mark.”

He nodded in sympathy. “Yes, but you are also our leader. Perhaps the mark aided you in attaining the position, but it was your decision making and poise that truly made it possible. It was your quick thinking that saved all of Haven’s people.”

“I guess.”

“You are capable, Ellana. Moreso than anyone else here.”

“You believe an omega can lead the Inquisition to victory?”

“I am certain of it.” He was sure of his words, though he found himself frowning after a moment. “Why would you ask such a question? I was under the impression you knew nothing of alphas and omegas until recently.”

She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers a moment. “I did some reading the last few days. Skyhold has an extensive library.”

“There is nothing on this part of our people’s history in that library.”

“I know. Most of the original books here were destroyed before we arrived, so I was stuck looking over what the Inquisition brought in. The only mention of alphas and omegas was in a book on wolves.”

His heart stilled a moment. “Wolves?”

“Yes. Each pack has an alpha—a leader who looks after the rest. One that’s a little bigger, and fights a little harder. The bulk of the pack are betas, and then there’s the omegas. The runts. Alpha wolves go out of their way to protect the omegas because they can’t fend for themselves as well. They’re mostly kept around for breeding.”

“Is that what you think is happening? That you’re the runt, and I’ve kept you around for breeding?” Solas asked, raising a brow when she didn’t scoff or roll her eyes.

Confidence was something he’d come to expect of her in recent months, but it was clear that was shaken now. From the fidgeting to the way she wouldn't quite meet his eye for this conversation, something was different. She’d bared herself to him on a level she’d not been prepared for, and he’d just stood there and watched. Every detail was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn't too proud to admit to re-imagining those images when he was alone. From his perspective it had been a beautiful experience—the scent in the air was sweeter than any he’d encountered in his many years, and the way her body writhed had mesmerized him…

There was a hunger in his stomach as he remembered it all, but he willed himself not to air it even as his cock twitched in his slacks. Just as he could smell her now, she would smell him as well. The longer she went without taking in the toxic properties deathroot possessed, the stronger her senses would become.

The last thing he wanted to do was confirm her belief that any alpha she met would think only of breeding her, even if it was the prominent thought in his own mind at the moment. She was so lovely…Sinking into her wet heat as she begged for him, knot swelling until they were tied together. Teeth sinking into her neck, bonding them irrevocably as his seed scented her from the inside out.

Solas cleared his throat, trying futilely to shake the barrage of images from his mind. “Surely you don’t think so poorly of me. Of yourself. You are more than a willing body.”

“I know you don’t keep me here just for breeding, but you _do_ protect me. Every time I fall, you’re there. Every time the mark gets to be too much, you’re the one bringing me back from the edge.”

“I will not deny feeling an instinctive level of responsibility for you when it comes to your health, but that hardly means you are weak or incapable,” Solas told her firmly.

“Are elves the only ones like this?”

“To my knowledge, yes, though I’ve proven to be ignorant on the subject in this age.”

“What’s that mean—in this age?”

“It means, during my journeys in the Fade, it was common to find fragments of memories where alphas and omegas were wandering Thedas openly,” he explained, keeping his voice steady despite the near-slip. He needed to be more careful. “I was able to identify myself through the knowledge I gained.”

“And, what? You assumed you were the only one?”

“I saw no evidence of others, though I did not rule out the possibility. I suspected Keepers were descendants of sorts—remnants of alphas from another time. It was not until I realized what you were that I knew it was more than that.” Her eyes held the next question, and he met them head on. “You have always possessed certain traits that I found reminiscent of an omega.”

“You thought I was a descendant, too.”

“I did not know about the tea. In the time of Arlathan, such a concoction was banned due to the inherent dangers. Even if it weren’t, elves took great pride in their statuses. There was no need for suppression.”

“That can’t be right. My Keeper said…”

She shook her head, and he could see the wheels turning.

Over the last several months, she had come to know Solas—to trust him. She’d trusted her Keeper for her entire life though. Clan Lavellan had been all she knew. They’d raised her, fed her, and taught her to fend for herself. Even after allowing her to believe she was plagued, they’d still cherished her as one of their own.

“Your Keeper believed what he told you,” Solas said with a shrug. “Much of our history was lost over time, and in this case, I can understand why. Being an omega would not have been an easy reality when the elves fell and the humans rose to power. It’s little wonder they chose to adapt; to hide.”

She shuddered but said nothing else on the subject. Instead she lifted her hand, looking at her mark as he looked at her with an equal interest. He could smell the tension in the air, the uncertainty she felt rolling off her in waves. All of her other questions had been a prelude to this moment, and yet she wasn’t going to say it—she wasn’t going to ask.

It was like she already knew the mark made her susceptible to another. The answer was right there in front of her, but she had no idea…No awareness that the Dread Wolf had caught her scent.

“Corypheus may have the orb, but he does not control the anchor,” Solas assured her, willing it to light up when she didn’t tear her gaze away. With a gasp her eyes found his, confusion in them. “It is not the orb’s wielder you should be concerned with; it is who imbued the orb with power to begin with.”

An ancient elf, she would no doubt conclude. Something she need not worry about since they were all gone from this world. Now was not the time to mention that several still lived, isolated though they may be. That would only serve to open her eyes to the possibility some were closer than she ever would have imagined.

\--

Things were strange since her first heat.

Every time she dwelled too much on the memory, her hand sparked and her mind went right to _him._ Solas. The actual details of her heat had become a bit of a blur, but she remembered the dark look in his eyes as he watched her too clearly. It still gave her chills when she wondered exactly what he may have been thinking that day. Nothing wholesome, that much she knew for sure.

“Why _did_ you stay in the tent that day?” she’d asked him at one point, face red as it always was when she brought up the subject—why she couldn’t just bite her tongue and move on was another question, though one she could only ask herself.

Varric, had been the answer Solas gave. Strange, yet somehow believable. It seemed Solas was concerned their curious friend might have wandered near the tent at some point. At the very least, he would have wanted a status update as the entire camp waited for word about how their Herald was doing.

“It seemed a better idea to remain in the tent with you and to allow him to draw his own conclusions,” Solas had explained, like it was no big deal at all. “Leaving would have only raised uncomfortable questions about what you were doing or who you were with.”

As it turned out, Varric really had wandered near the intent to check in on her wellbeing. She asked her friend offhandedly, only for him to wink and say, ‘ _Don’t worry, your Inquisitorialness. Your secret’s safe with me._ _At least until the book comes out!’_

Because apparently she was in a secret relationship with Solas, or at least a physical one that only Varric seemed to know about. True to his word, Varric hadn’t told a sole about what he may have overheard—she shuddered to think about it, not daring to ask exactly what that was. All she knew was it involved Solas’ name, and that was more than enough information for her.

And to think, the same thing would happen all over again in another month. Unless she decided to mix the deathroot tea again, that is, which was something she struggled with each time it crossed her mind. Drinking the tea would be so much more convenient, and yet every time she was alone with Solas, she somehow talked herself out of it even when he never breached the subject.

Maybe it was the smell in the air—the warmth she felt emanating from him now. That would all be gone if she drank the tea again, suppressed with the rest of her instincts.

“Can I confess something?” Solas asked, pulling her back from her thoughts.

They’d returned to Skyhold from Crestwood the night before, following another one of Hawke’s leads. She’d fully intended to go seek the council’s opinion on their next course of action, but only after breakfast with Solas.

It had become a bit of a routine for them. They’d go on some mission, complete the task, help as many other people as possible, and then return to Skyhold to do it all over again. Breakfast was their only opportunity to breathe in between the chaos, and it was a time she cherished now even if Solas still hadn’t given her a real answer regarding the meaning of their kiss in the Fade.

“Of course,” she told him, curious.

He all but slammed his tea cup down onto the table, shaking his head miserably. “I detest tea.”

“Then why drink it?”

“I need to shake the dreams from my mind,” he explained, glancing across the table at her. “I may also need a favor.”

Her heart jumped a little, unsure exactly where this was going. This was new. Of all her companions, Solas asked for nothing—not even a break from the constant missions. He was still the only one who came along every single time she left Skyhold, never complaining even once.

“You just have to ask,” she encouraged, which surely he _knew._ Yet he said nothing in response, instead narrowing his brow slightly. “Solas?”

“One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”

She blinked, not quite understanding—except for the fact this was Solas. “I’d be happy to help. What did these mages use to capture your friend? Blood magic?”

“A summoning circle, I would imagine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My friend is a spirit of wisdom.”

It suddenly made sense as he said it, but she found herself smiling reassuringly as he launched into a full explanation about how not all spirits want to enter their world. She was no mage, obviously, and so it didn’t make absolute sense—but she understood the important parts.

This spirit had been a friend to Solas and needed to be saved.

“Alright,” she decided, setting her fork down. “Let’s go get your friend.”

“Right now?”

“Of course.”

Relief mingled with his dismayed scent. “Thank you.”

The Exalted Marches were a bit further away than expected, but she was sure the trip would be worthwhile. There was little she wouldn’t do for Solas after he’d done so much, even if it meant enduring their companion’s offhand remarks along the way.

“I’m just saying, this place isn’t exactly close to the Western Approach,” Varric chimed in, shrugging as Solas shot him a glare.

“His friend needs our help,” Ellana explained for at least the eighth time.

“All of Thedas needs _your_ help,” Cassandra responded pointedly.

She huffed at her friends, not caring to hear any of this. “The rifts aren’t going anywhere. If we don’t get to Solas’ friend in time, it could be too late!”

“And the Wardens? Each day that passes—”

Cassandra was cut off by Ellana’s stare. “If you wish to go to the Western Approach, I’m not stopping you. This is where I need to be.”

The Seeker stared back a moment before conceding a nod. “Then I will remain by your side, Inquisitor.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d had a dispute of sorts, though usually it was kept to the War Room. That was where they debated their actions freely, choosing the route that the majority agreed was best. In this case, Ellana had to pull the Inquisitor card for the very first time since being granted the title…Something she’d hoped to never do. They had no problem sending Ellana to the Exalted Marches, but felt a trip to Val Royeaux or the Western Approach should be priority.

At the end of the day, the council could say whatever it wanted—without her hand, they had no chance against Corypheus.

“Ma serannas,” Solas said, quiet and just for her.

She smiled at him, sure that she need not respond for him to know exactly what she was feeling right now. Without the deathroot tea, her scent was in the air—something he commented on regularly these days. Whether she was happy, sad, tired, or annoyed, he always seemed to detect it on her. Depending on what the mood was, he might remind her with a wink or smirk. It was enough to convince her that maybe the benefits of _not_ drinking the tea outweighed some of the embarrassment a regular heat cycle may cause.

In this case, she felt determined to help him.

Neither of them were expecting to find a pride demon when they finally got to their destination.

\--

Alphas did not handle loss well, and Solas wasn’t too proud to admit he was no exception. What he could say in his own favor was while some lashed out, he simply kept to himself. It was better that way—his was a temper best kept far from innocent bystanders. Especially bystanders like Ellana who unwittingly made it flare in a way he had never experienced.

Not many dared defy the Dread Wolf, yet she had stood in front of him and refused to back down. And to what end? To save those _fools_ who’d killed his friend. He’d been ready to strike them down until she stepped in his way, provoking his alpha further without even knowing it. As if they deserved to live after what they’d done.

The things he’d wanted to do to her…

She was still too new to being an omega to understand what she’d done, defying him so openly when they’d all but begun the courting process. How beautiful she would have looked, submitting to him on that field. It had taken every ounce of self-control to walk away, playing the character she had come to know. Calm and collected as always.

A few days later and he was glad he’d walked away.

“It wouldn’t have been right,” he reminded himself as he made the long trek back to Skyhold.

With his magic in her veins, her body would have been too willing—more than her mind or conscious permitted. He’d walked away instead, taking time to recollect himself before daring to meet her eyes once more. Some lines could not be crossed, even if she wished to pursue a relationship.

“Solas.” Barely a foot into the hold, and there she was. Her eyes were filled with a sadness that was palpable in their bond, and again he had to call on his will—this time to force himself to hold her gaze, knowing he was the one who had caused her pain. “How are you?”

“It hurts. It always does,” he said with a slight shrug, “but I will survive.”

“Thank you for coming back.”

“You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now.”

As if he could walk away for long under the circumstances. It was like she was calling out to him every night, their fragile connection even following him into the Fade as he visited the place his friend once inhabited. Inquisitive as always, she pressed for information—something he gladly shared. His friend may never return, but it was a comfort to share that something else may grow where it once spent most of its time.

The way Ellana hung on his every word…sometimes it felt so genuine he forgot about the anchor entirely. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said again in the end, her soft smile kinder than he deserved.

“As am I. Surely you did not wait here for me—what have you accomplished in my absence?”

“I wanted to wait, but the council insisted...I think they knew I needed a distraction.”

Solas hummed in acknowledgment, trying not to be too upset that she’d finally gone on a mission without him by her side. It was his own fault for leaving, giving her a reason to need a distraction in the first place. “Which distraction did you choose?”

“We got back from the Western Approach last night.”

“The Wardens?”

“Yes. They wanted to go right to Adamant Fortress after, but…”

“But what?” he pressed, gentle.

“I insisted we come here first.”

He smiled before he could stop himself. “To recuperate, I assume?”

“Of course,” she huffed, arms folded across her chest. “And if you happened to return in the meantime, that would just be a bonus. We’re in for a difficult battle, I think. We need you.”

“The Inquisition needs me, or you need me?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“No, it cannot,” he said simply, shrugging. “Just as I did not return for both you and the Inquisition. You are the reason I chose to remain when it would have been wiser to flee, just as you are the reason I return even when it would’ve been simpler to leave. I have always worked most effectively on my own.”

“Yet here you are,” Ellana muttered, brow furrowed like she couldn’t quite decide if she should be flattered or offended. It was adorable, really. “Is it because of the mark?”

“Initially I was curious to stay because of the mark; I wanted to understand its origins and your involvement in this scenario. Now it is far more complex.”

“We’re connected, aren’t we? Because of the mark?”

He blinked, heart stilling as he tried to appear unphased. “What do you mean?”

“Your magic…My mark is tied to the rifts, and so is your magic. We’re connected through it, aren’t we?”

A reasonable conclusion, and one he was glad she was willing to accept. “In a sense, yes. I draw on the Fade for many of my spells, and the rifts are inherently tied to the Fade. Between that and our statuses, it was inevitable we would reach this point.”

“You once told me this was real—what I felt for you. How can you be so sure it’s not just circumstance? That it’s about you and me _,_ and not just… _this?”_ she pressed, opening her palm as a flare of green emanated from it. Her eyes remained on him, unblinking and unrelenting. For the first time, he didn’t quite know what to say. “Solas?”

“You know the answer, Ellana.”

It was the mark that drew them together, and it was that connection that kept them both coming back. Whether or not anything else that had formed was real was a matter of interpretation, and he could not be the one to interpret the situation for her this time. He could barely trust his own judgment when it came to her these days, his resolve shaken in more ways than one.

How could he possibly go through with his plan knowing how it would impact her entire world?

“Perhaps we can discuss this further in private.”

Ellana’s eyes widened like she was just realizing they were still outside, the wandering eyes of many on the pair. It was only natural; she was their leader, and the eyes of the masses fell on her whenever she stepped outside her room. That was where he lead her, pleased when she showed no signs of hesitation.

By the time they were on her balcony, he still wasn’t quite sure where to begin. “What were you like before the anchor?” he wondered, and not for the first time. “Has it affected you—changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your…spirit?”

“I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since…” It was getting more difficult to vocalize the lies, especially when she was staring at him so curiously. So openly hanging on his every word, eyes filled with trust and innocence. “Would you believe me if I told you I am not just a wanderer of the Fade?”

“You aren’t?”

“It’s true, I have seen much in my dreams—traveled far and wide for a greater understanding of this world and how it came to be. I am more than that, though. I was born in an age long forgotten; one your people have tried and failed to remember.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I am what you may call an ancient elf, born in the days before Arlathan.”

“I don’t understand,” Ellana responded, slow and quiet. “That can’t be possible. All the ancient elves are…”

“Dead,” he finished, snorting when she nodded. “If only it were so. It would be better for your world if that were true, I suppose, yet here we are. Do you believe me?”

“I want to,” she answered without delay. “I just don’t see how it’s possible. Fen'harel—he locked our gods away. We lost our immortality when that happened.”

“Another fragment of the truth. There are those among our people who maintained their immortality, though not without sacrifice.” His mind wandered to Mythal, knowing all too well the magic she used to keep her spirit alive through so many ages. “I am not among them. It was an ancient magic that kept me alive through the years—I was in a state of slumber through most of it, awakening about a year before the Inquisition began.”

“You’re not immortal, but you’re from the days of Arlathan?”

“Correct.”

“This is insane,” Ellana whispered, eyes intently focused on his. “I shouldn’t believe you, but…”

“You do. You believe me.”

“I can _feel_ it,” she confirmed, her marked hand palm-open between them. She hesitated a moment before resting it on his chest, his steady heartbeat under the touch. “That’s why you dismiss my people so easily—we know fragments, and you know the whole story.”

“Yes. I also know we can restore what once was. Our culture is not lost indefinitely.”

“How?”

“The orb,” Solas answered, relief pouring off him as he unburdened himself of some of the deception. “I told you it was a foci—what I didn’t say was which member of the pantheon it belonged to."

“Who?”

“Fen'harel.”

Ellana gasped at that, ready to pull her hand back from his chest until he encompassed it with his own and held it steady. “There’s no time to waste, Solas! If it belonged to Fen'harel, then Corypheus could do more damage than we realized!”

“He knows not how to use its power properly. Without the proper skillset, he will not achieve his goals.”

“Look at what he’s done already! Thedas is in disarray— _thousands_ have died!”

“A tragedy, yes. We should be thankful it was not worse. Your presence in the Conclave may have saved us all.”

“It’s a curse,” she responded, hand flaring in his as she said the words. “This mark, it’s a curse! It’s—”

“It connected you and I. Surely that’s not a bad thing.”

“How can you say that? I’ve been marked by _Fen'harel!”_

“Many would have fought for such an honor in the days of Arlathan. Fen'harel was not the villain you believe him to be.”

“What, were you his friend?”

Solas frowned at her sudden disdain, realizing he’d said far too much, too soon. It was silly to believe their connection would soothe her through such a revelation. “I would not go so far as to say that. This was meant to be good news for you, Ellana. Much of our history is not lost. We can restore what once was—we just need to get the orb back from Corypheus.”

“That orb nearly destroyed the world. It’s _still_ nearly destroying the world. Such power should be locked away, not used by someone who doesn’t understand the dangers.”

“I understand more than anyone the dangers of ancient magics.”

“So you were there, then? During the fall of our people?”

“As I said, I slept through most of it. The actual creation of the Veil though, I witnessed.”

Her hard expression softened at that. “I’m sorry. I know how much you love the Fade…it must’ve been difficult for you to see it locked away like that.”

“Difficult, yes. That does not mean it was unnecessary,” he explained carefully. “Sometimes terrible choices are all that remain.”

“What is it you plan to do with the orb, Solas?”

“I lost much during my slumber, and yet I grow stronger each day I remain awake. With the orb, I will have enough power to do what must be done. To restore our people.”

“Then I’ll help you—whatever it takes, we’ll get the orb back from Corypheus. All I ask is you wait when we have it. Whatever your plan is, you’ll need to study the orb first.”

“It is from my time; I know of its power already.”

“It may be more dangerous than you realize, Solas. There’s a reason Fen'harel is known among the Dalish as the trickster. What if he left the orb in the chaos hoping this would happen? _Hoping_ someone would find it in another age and wreak havoc?”

Solas couldn’t hide his grimace, shaking his head resolutely. “That is not the case.”

“How can you be so sure?”

It took all his effort not to snort at the irony of it all, holding her gaze as he shook his head. “Do you trust me, Ellana?” he asked, pleased when she looked offended at the simple question. _Of course,_ she said, and he could feel the honesty in the energy that tethered them together. “Trust me in this, then. Fen'harel was no monster.”

\--

Nothing was what it seemed.

From the Wardens to the Imperial Court, facts were unraveling at an alarming rate. None quite so alarming as Solas’ confession, but somehow that was the easiest truth to accept. She could feel how genuine he was being when they spoke, her hand aglow any time she contemplated that conversation and its impact on their mission.

Things were simpler when she believed their final mission would end in a battle against Corypheus. Now she wasn’t sure how it would all go down. No doubt there would still be a battle, but her mission wouldn’t truly be over until Solas had accomplished…

Well, whatever it was he intended to accomplish.

Between the missions, the battles, and the everyday demands of being the Inquisitor, she hadn’t quite gotten around to pressing the matter with Solas. There were just so many other things she wanted to talk about now that his walls were coming down—more intimate questions, like if he’d come to a decision about where they stood.

Of course, when _that_ subject came up, he merely insisted he needed more time. That there were still considerations. And so they danced around one another, pretending not to notice when the other stared for a moment too long.

“Solas,” she said, clutching her blanket to her bare chest as he continued to look the other way with a frustrating amount of purpose.

Another heat had come and gone—three now since the first. They had found a way to get back to Skyhold each time, Solas telling the council that their Inquisitor would need special treatment each month due to the strains the anchor was having on her body.

No one questioned him, as usual. Instead they insisted he stay in the room with her, tending to her every need. It was probably for the best they knew not what those needs were, nor the fact that he absolutely refused to indulge them.

“You know you can look now,” Ellana continued, sighing when he didn’t. “It’s over.”

“And yet your scent lingers in the air.”

“So does yours.”

That got his attention, causing him to set down the book he was pretending to read at her desk. He pivoted in her chair, eyeing her tentatively. “I do not deny it. Even in the days of Arlathan, there would not be a single alpha in existence who could fight arousal in the presence of an omega in heat.”

“Why do you try, then? You know I’d let you—”

“You know not what you ask for,” Solas interjected firmly, waving off her huff. “What would transpire between us would be more than physical pleasure. I would take you, Ellana. Claim you as my own. There would be no stopping me.”

“Maybe I’m ready to be yours.”

Her heart stilled as he shook his head, repeating, “You know not what you ask for.”

“Yes, I do! Dorian tracked down more books for me. I’ve read about the bonding between mates—the ancient rituals. The bite mark. It sounded crazy at first, but when I stop thinking…when I’m lying here, aching for you, I know it’s exactly what I need.” She paused, biting at her lower lip as he sat there without reaction. “Solas, please. Say something.”

“Do you recall the last few days?”

“Only fragments. Why?”

“It’s the heat—without an alpha’s touch, an omega may become delirious. In the midst of this cycle, you reached such a state,” he explained carefully. “I became concerned, naturally. You begged me to help you, but your consent was compromised at that point. I could not touch you.”

“It’s okay,” she assured, the torn expression on his face tearing her up inside. This wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t about making him feel guilty or pressuring him. It was about clarity—honesty and intent. “You did the right thing, Solas.”

“Did I?” he countered, rising from the chair and running a frustrated hand over his bald head. He paced the room in silence for several minutes, tensions rising in the air until he came to an abrupt halt at the foot of her bed. “I stood right here, watching your every move. Watching as you touched yourself without satisfaction. I listened as you begged for my cock, and I…”

She dropped the blanket from her chest before she could think twice about modesty, crawling along the mattress until she was kneeling on its edge, eyes never leaving his as he stared down at her. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I may not remember everything, but I know you didn’t touch me. I don’t expect you not to look when you’re forced into this room with me every month.”

“I need not touch you to take advantage, vhenan.” The anguish in his eyes was palpable, but her entire world got stuck on his words. _Vhenan._ Her own heart swelled, certain that this was it. This was the moment they stopped with all pretenses. “We are connected.”

“What—“ Her hand sparked before she could ask the question, the green hue answering for him. She tilted her head, not even sure if it was possible. “Solas?”

“Where you failed to bring yourself pleasure, I assured it.”

Ellana opened her mouth to ask another question but couldn’t quite get it out. Sure, she knew there was a connection between his magic and her hand, but _this?_ “Could you feel it? What you were doing?”

“No. I guided your hand, but only you could feel its effect.”

Again there were no words, and so she just nodded as it sunk in. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he couldn’t feel what he’d done. Part of her wish he’d just given in himself, yet another part admired his unrelenting restraint. No doubt it was more than difficult for him to be around her each month, and yet he continued to stay by her side each time.

“I have done you a disservice, manipulating our connection whilst you were all but unaware,” Solas said finally, shaking his head.

“It’s okay. I would have accepted more than a little magic.”

“Our connection runs deeper than you realize. I was the one who knew this, and yet I still took action,” he said, his voice as bitter as it was torn. “If you knew the truth, you would not be so eager for my affection.”

“Then tell me.”

“I cannot. You would not yet forgive me, and I am far too selfish to allow that.”

“There’s nothing you could say that I wouldn’t forgive.”

He scoffed. “I am not the man you believe me to be.”

“You’re kind and curious. You share your knowledge with others even when they don’t deserve your time, and you go out of your way to help others even when you have enough on your own plate. I know exactly who you are, Solas.”

“A better man would confess right now. I am not though, and I cannot.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I am protecting you.”

“You’d do better to explain yourself.”

He eyed her impassively, and she knew it was useless—that he’d already made his decision. For someone who seemed to thrive on long explanations and stories, it was strange that he would hold this one back by choice. Perhaps it was because the imbalance of the situation; that in this moment she was not just the Inquisitor and he was not just Solas. No, as she stared up at him, bared and captivated, she was an omega fresh out of heat and he was an alpha, decisive and resolute.

“We will need to plan better for your next heat,” Solas said after a few beats of silence. “I will not put myself in this position again, nor should you allow it. Even now, I find it all but impossible to walk away from your scent.”

Her inner omega preened at that, and she was sure she’d never quite get used to that feeling. It was enough for her to momentarily forget the first part of his statement, too focused on the lust in his eyes and the rich scent of his arousal in the air. As Inquisitor, she was used to receiving praise and compliments on a regular basis, but she never needed any of it—she was too focused on the missions to stop and internalize such comments.

It was always Solas’ words that stopped her in her tracks, and no one else’s.

“Solas, please,” she tried, raising a tentative hand and placing it on his chest. This time there were no green sparks; no magical crackle or glow. It was just the heat of his body beneath her touch, firm and steady as his heart beat. “I won’t ask for more than you’re ready to give.”

“There are things you demand without words now that you are not suppressed.”

“Would you rather—”

“No,” he interjected immediately, covering her hand with his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I would prefer you never consume death root again in any variation.”

“You’re not making any sense. What do you want from me, Solas? Space—time? Or nothing at all?”

“It is not a matter of what I want, it is a matter of what must be done. I will not be the one to distract you from your duty.”

“Solas—”

“You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world…”

“Why not this one?”

The apology was written in his eyes even before the words left his mouth, the stubborn alpha shaking his head. “I cannot. I’m sorry.”

Before she could get another word out, he took a step back, her hand falling from his chest with the same abruptness she felt constricting her heart. The ache only seemed to spread from there as he took another step, and then another until he finally turned away entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

How she hadn’t figured it out was a mystery, though Solas could venture a guess.

Ellana was young still, not even an adult when compared to the elves of his time. New to heats, and new to the desires that accompanied them. No doubt it consumed her being in a way she could not yet handle, and his attraction toward her was not subtle.

Fresh out of heat, her omega would be too focused on their potential mating to truly hear what he was saying; to piece together the confession he’d all but spoken. It was a shame, really, because it’d be so much easier to stay away if she had a reason to stop sending him such longing stares every time she thought he wasn’t looking.

If only she knew _he_ was the great adversary of her people. She’d never look at him the same way again. The thought of his touch would repulse her.

No doubt she felt the truth in their bond when he told her Fen’harel was no monster, just as he felt her disbelief in return. It was as if the Dalish tales had been ingrained in her very being, becoming a part of her in a way he could not will away with mere honesty. The only thing that soothed her was the simple fact _he_ was the one saying the words she could not fathom, which provided him no solace since it still wasn’t the full truth.

That didn’t stop him from traveling with her. From protecting her and remaining nearby to ensure his mark didn’t become unstable in his absence. There was still a mission to complete, after all.

Maybe he was a monster.

Still, it wasn’t as if she didn’t personally request his presence when they set out to Mythal’s Temple. There were only so many things he could say ‘no’ to when she asked.

“Why would this be here?” Morrigan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, her ignorance endless. Ellana remained silent in response, though he could feel she was wondering the same thing as they stood in front of a familiar statue. “It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen’harel. In elven tales, he tricks their gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting Fen’harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.”

It took all his willpower not to react as Ellana responded, “My clan set statues of Fen’harel outside our camp. They’re meant to frighten harmful spirits.”

“Perhaps. I thought the ancient elves above quaint superstitions.”

Before Ellana could look in his direction, he shifted his gaze to Morrigan. “For all your ‘knowledge’, Lady Morrigan, you cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

“Pray tell, what meaning does our elven expert sense lurking behind this?”

“None we can discern by staring at it.”

The Inquisitor was doing just that, looking away from the statue as if his words had been a command. Luckily she said nothing, seeming to accept that he was avoiding her glances and words with as much willpower as he could muster. They moved along into Mythal’s Temple, the sight too familiar to him despite how many centuries had passed since he’d last stepped foot inside.

She had been a dear friend.

They made their way through, and he allowed the group to ask him the inevitable questions—questions about the elven ‘gods’ and their histories. Falon’din and his downfall, Andruil and her insanity. Each was a painful memory, and so he kept his responses short and clipped whenever possible.

Thankfully the Inquisitor didn’t press too much herself. He could tell she was more curious than the others, naturally so. No doubt she was hoping to approach him later to learn more.

That gave him time to prepare to send her away. They could not be alone together anymore.

“Tis not what I expected. What was this chamber used for?”

He could feel the presence of his people even before Ellana realized they were being watched, and was not surprised when one stepped forward in the inner chamber of the temple. A guardian no doubt. The first of his people Solas had encountered in many, many years.

“It is not for you. It is not for any of you,” the elf, Abelas, declared.

“So…you’re elves from ancient times?” Ellana realized, chancing a single glance in his direction before focusing back on the matter at hand. He did not look away from her, too curious for what her reaction may be. “Before the Tevinter Imperium destroyed Arlathan?”

“The shemlen did not destroy Arlathan. We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary were closed, our time was over.”

It was overwhelming to her, though Solas couldn’t help feeling relieved. Even if Ellana could feel the truth in all his words, there was something powerful about another reinforcing some of what he said. Abelas continued to explain his duties, conceding only to the point that they had shown respect since entering the temple.

“Solas, perhaps he’ll listen to you.”

He scoffed, though appreciated the notion. “What shall I say, Inquisitor? Shall I sway him from a millennia of service by virtue of our shared blood?” She had no answer to that, though she kept her head high as she eyed Abelas. “He clings to all that remains of his world because he lacks the power to restore it.”

“Our people have lost everything,” Ellana told him, firm and unwavering. A futile effort in the face of an ancient elf. Who knew how much hardship this group had endured through the years, perhaps the last of their kind to remain? “They need you. They could learn from you!”

“Our people? The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing vallaslin? You are _not_ my people.”

Her hand crackled with his magic at those words—words that he had once echoed himself before he knew better. Before he knew Ellana’s true character and understood how history had become so distorted. It was only then that Abelas directed his attention to Solas, eyes widening just slightly in realization until Solas’ narrowed with purpose.

This was not how his secret would come to be known.

“If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them,” Abelas decided, directing his attention back to Ellana. “When this is done, you shall be permitted to depart and never return.”

A satisfactory response, much to Solas’ relief. “This is our goal, is it not? There is no reason to fight these Sentinels.”

Naturally, Morrigan had something to say about that, but Ellana remained on Solas’ side through it all. Always. It seemed like a victory until Abelas threatened to destroy the Well, and Morrigan took off after him to protect it. They pursued the two themselves, though Solas knew it was a fruitless effort. Abelas would not truly destroy the very thing he had protected for so many years. Talking him down would be a simple matter.

“Brave it if you must,” Abelas conceded, Ellana’s calm words swaying him easily, “but know this: you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound? To a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan responded incredulously.

Foolish woman. She spouted more tales about how Fen’Harel banished Mythal with the other gods, only to be stunned as Abelas told the truth of it. That Mythal was murdered. The memory of it was an old wound brought back to life in the blink of an eye. His heart ached as Abelas elaborated, the pain threatening to consume him until a familiar hand gripped his.

“Are you alright, Solas?”

He was not, but he’d had ages to bury that fact within himself. For now, there was a more pressing issue—he knew where this encounter was headed, and he needed to put a stop to it. “A word, Inquisitor?”

Ellana nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “Of course.”

He guided her off to the side after sending Abelas off with a few kind words, meeting her eyes for the first time in weeks. They were just as vibrant as he remembered, locked onto his with that same insatiable curiosity they always held. “I cannot allow you to drink from the Well.”

“But…we need this power. Corypheus will—”

“I know. We cannot allow him to have it, nor can we waste this opportunity.”

“What are you suggesting, then? That you drink from it?”

“No!” Solas responded, put off by the very thought. “The Well would reject me. No alpha could be bound to another alpha in such a way.”

“So we let Morrigan drink it? She’s not even an elf!”

“I do not trust her with such knowledge.”

“Then it’s settled. It has to be me, Solas.”

“Please, vhenan.” The strain alone would kill her within days. His magic alone was taking its toll on her, day after day—and that was _with_ his presence nearby to soothe her. Mythal wasn’t exactly nearby, nor would Solas allow her to be. Sharing was not a strong suit of his. “The thought of you being tethered to another…”

“Aren’t I already?” she countered. “At least Mythal was on the right side! Maybe the knowledge in the Well will have an answer for me—how to cleanse myself of this when the mission is complete.”

“Is your mark truly such a burden?” Solas responded, disappointed.

“It ties me to Fen’harel.”

“It brought us together.”

“And then tore us apart. It’s what he does—he tore our people apart,” she reminded him slowly, the depth of her sorrow masking his own in their connection. “This mark is my duty. It’s the very thing you said you couldn’t distract me from, and that won’t change until I’ve found a way to rid myself of it when this is all over. Don’t you see? This could be the solution!”

He let out a frustrated growl, the vicious circle they were talking in showing no end. “If there is any hope for us at all, you will not do this.”

She huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Is that a command, Alpha?”

“Does it need to be?”

“You are the most confusing man I’ve ever met,” she muttered, her stubborn posture finally faltering under his unimpressed gaze. She raked a hand through her hair, shaking her head at him. “I don’t understand what I am to you.”

“Have I not made it plain? You are my heart.”

“Then why…?”

“I do not trust myself not to take what you are unprepared to give.”

“I _am_ ready! I’ve told you, over and over.”

“I will not lie with you under false pretenses.”

“Pardon me,” Morrigan’s false politeness cut in. Neither looked away from each other, but neither spoke as they waited to hear what she had to say. “I would prefer not to interrupt a lover’s quarrel; however, it seems we are running out of time. Have you made a decision, Inquisitor?”

“I have,” Ellana replied.

For a moment he braced himself for what he might have to do, his priorities clear in his mind. She could hate him for all eternity if necessary; he would do what was necessary to ensure her survival. To ensure she would never be tethered to another.

“The Well is yours, Morrigan,” she declared.

He exhaled a long breath, though couldn’t quite relax. Not when Ellana stepped away from him, pointedly refusing to so much as look in his direction.

\--

The world had become a strange place, and not just because there was a massive hole in the sky.

It seemed like a distant memory when she was living in a reality where alphas and omegas were unfamiliar words. A reality where her Keeper was the one person she could trust above all others, and a reality where Inquisitor was a title from some shem history book she’d never read.

Solas hadn’t existed in that reality either.

Now she was beginning to understand, though. Just because those things hadn’t existed in _her_ reality did not mean they weren’t there all along. There were a lot of truths she had never considered, and that didn’t make them false.

She stared at her marked hand absentmindedly, calling on the foreign magic inside her to light up as she curled her fingers. They were poised for their final fight, and for once she wasn’t even nervous. There was a certainty inside her—they would win this one. They had no other option, and so they would succeed.

And it would be this mark that would save all of Thedas. _Fen’harel’s_ mark. Granted, it was his orb that caused the world’s problems to begin with, but not through his actions. Corypheus was the villain in this tale.

“I could feel the weight of your thoughts from across the courtyard.”

Ellana didn’t even bother turning from where she stood, leaning against her balcony as Solas stepped in closer. He hadn’t been in her room in weeks now, even when she’d gone through yet another heat and begged for his help—his presence, if nothing else.

“Are you nervous?” he asked when she said nothing.

“No. It’s time for this to be over.”

“Yes, it is. We have everything we need to succeed now.”

“I’m going to give the order tomorrow,” Ellana revealed slowly. “Everyone should be rested by then. We’ll march on the Temple and end this.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, leaning against the balcony by her side. “What is weighing on you so heavily, if not the upcoming battle?”

“Are you asking because you want me focused on the fight, or are you asking because you care?”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he sighed, not really answering.

She knew what his answer would be even if he refused to speak it. He cared—he just shouldn’t, or couldn’t… _wouldn’t,_ perhaps. He really was a strange man. The affection he felt for her was clear in their connection, as was his concern. Considering he hadn’t approached her for a private conversation since Mythal’s Temple, it really wasn’t such a surprise.

He wouldn’t have come to her now against his better judgment if he didn’t care.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ellana admitted slowly, “about the mark. About Fen’harel. In Mythal’s Temple, Abelas said she was murdered. That Fen’harel had nothing to do with it.”

“That is true.”

“And yet that is not what I grew up believing.” Solas bit back whatever remark was on his tongue as she continued, “You once told me Fen’harel was no monster. I could feel the truth of it inside me, but it’s been difficult to accept.”

“Your histories are ingrained in you.”

“The statues in the temple—they weren’t warnings. They were meant to honor him.”

“Mythal and Fen’harel were friends. They fought together.”

“If he didn’t lock the gods away, then why is that what my people remember?”

“The gods you speak of were false. They were mages. Alphas who used their power to rule over the People. Fen’harel did lock them away—but only after they began to abuse their power. After the age of slavery had began. They would not listen to reason.”

“Slavery?”

“After a time, it was as if they truly believed themselves gods. They thought themselves above most of the People, particularly the omegas. Their followers would brand omegas in honor of their patron god—a repulsive act.”

“Brand them?”

“Your face. The vallaslin…”

Her heart dropped in her chest, wanting nothing more than to tell him he was wrong. That it wasn’t possible. Was there a point in denying it though? She’d been wrong about _everything._

“So this is…what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Solas said, sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell. I can remove the vallaslin.”

She brought a hand to her face, thinking how long her markings had been a part of her. “Does it tie me to Mythal in some way?”

“No. Your vallaslin was not created with Mythal’s magic, nor is it a bonding of any kind. In the days of old, it would simply mean you were a slave who had been promised to her. Her plaything, should she choose to accept the offering. No other alpha would dare approach you or pursue a bonding whilst you bore that brand.”

Her stomach turned at the thought, and suddenly she felt very unsteady on her feet. It was little wonder Solas had decided to turn her away. Every time he looked at her, he saw an omega promised to another. An omega who also had the magic of _another_ coursing through her veins.

“Mythal was the best of them all,” Solas said after a beat of silence. “She played along because she had not yet come to possess enough power to overthrow the others. She treated her slaves with dignity and respect.”

“And they killed her for it?”

His expression darkened. “Yes. The final straw before they were banished by Fen’harel.”

“Were all alphas considered gods back then?”

“No. Only the strongest ascended to that status—those who had served as generals in ancient wars, who had become kings in the next age. It was not something that happened in single night.”

She stared at him for a long moment, ready to ask the inevitable question. Ready to ask if _he_ had been one of them. Somehow she already knew though. No doubt he had been considered one of them, regardless of whether he considered himself a god or not.

The question was, which one? He hadn’t exactly been locked away, and she could only think of one god in her people’s history who had been on the other side that day.

Fen’harel.

Her hand pulsed, but to her own surprise she felt nothing but calm in this revelation. Solas said nothing as she looked him over, taking in his every feature. Such an unassuming elf…He was the wolf in her nightmares as a child. The rebel god who destroyed her people, if any of the stories were true.

And she loved him.

“Cast your spell. Take the vallaslin away.”

\--

_Ar lasa mala revas._

The sight of Ellana’s face without the brand of another stirred something inside Solas that he struggled to keep at bay even as they entered their final battle. She was so beautiful, and no longer marred with the brand of another. No, it was only _his_ mark on her hand now—his magic in her veins, tying them together. It had taken all his will power not to kiss her after he removed the vallaslin, knowing the wolf inside him would take control if he crossed that line in that moment.

The things he would have done to her…

They wouldn’t have left her chamber for days. Not when she was freshly bonded to him, her bare neck scarring over where his teeth sunk in. He had never craved anything the way he craved her in that moment.

She knew, too. The realization was plain in her eyes when she told him to remove the vallaslin.

The only thing that held him back was the fact that he hadn’t said it. Until the words were spoken and he was certain she understood who and what he was, it mattered not what his desires were. Not when she was still processing. There was still a chance she may reject him once she thought it through, her Dalish beliefs too ingrained for their connection to break.

They would get through this one last mission, and then he could have her full, undivided attention.

Or at least, that was what he’d hoped.

“You cannot handle the orb as you are now,” Solas told her before they set out toward the Temple.

“You said the Breach can only be sealed by a power equal to the one that opened it.”

“Yes, and I was correct. The anchor isn’t stable enough for this though.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t had any issues with it in months.”

 _Because I remained by your side,_ he thought, shaking his head dismally. “It is more complex than that.”

“Maybe you should’ve mentioned that before I gave the order to march out.”

“There are many things I cannot say. Not until the time is right.”

“I know who you are, Solas,” Ellana told him pointedly, glancing over at him. “You don’t need to hide it from me.”

“There is more.”

Like the fact the anchor would continue to grow unstable as time went on unless they were bonded. How could he tell her that though, without forcing her consent? It was a matter of life and death. She would have an obligation to accept even before she was truly prepared. There was much she didn’t know about being an omega, let alone one bonded to an alpha.

It felt like their bonding was inevitable either way, but he had no intention of rushing her once all the facts were on the table. Perhaps she accepted who he was now—did that mean she would accept who he wanted to be? What his plans were?

“Corypheus will no doubt focus his rage on you alone. When you are given the opportunity, I would ask you hand me the orb. I was too weak to wield it when I awoken in this age, but now it is already unlocked. I will seal the Breach myself.”

“It’s going to be a battle, Solas. I can’t promise I’ll have the chance to run over to you to hand you the orb. All I can say is that I’ll try my best.”

He had no choice but to accept that answer, the Temple drawing near. The planet was in distress below their feet as they approached the false god, and Solas had to blink away the deja vu of it all. It was like an insecurity—false gods had to put on big displays as if to prove themselves. He was raising the ground, mindless of the fact he would have nothing to ‘rule’ if he destroyed it all.

“You have been most successful in foiling my plans, but let us not forget what you are,” Corypheus taunted as Ellana lead their group near. “A thief, in the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”

Solas snarled at the speech, glaring up at the true thief. None of it would matter soon anyway. Before he knew it, two dragons were flying away in combat, and their own battle had begun. It took him a full minute to pull his staff out, too mesmerized by Ellana’s flawless movements. She was in and out of stealth before Corypheus could touch her, moving with the kind of grace only an omega could possess.

“Snap out of it, Chuckles!” Varric called to him, firing off another shot as the false god called for help.

The rest was a blur as he began to cast, spell after spell barely grazing the surface of his mana. Every time it looked like Corypheus might get in a single blow, he had a barrier around his omega to negate all the damage.

Truly, his power had begun to come back in waves—particularly since joining Ellana. The bit of his magic inside her was an old magic, and it had only grown more powerful as they sealed rift after rift. Their connection was so seamless at points in their travels, and the feel of it strengthened his own power.

He felt it tugging at him when the orb was near, watching in awe as Ellana raised her marked hand toward Corypheus. It was ablaze in green, the orb lighting up like a beacon as his magic called to the foci. It was in her hand before Corypheus could even fall to his knees.

“Ellana!” Solas called out, watching in horror as she pointed it toward the sky.

The magic shot out of her before he could get close, crackling and spreading until it reached the Breach. Once the energy was there, it snapped into place, effectively sealing the Breach in the process. He couldn’t get to her fast enough as it happened, shouting out to the Seeker.

No one else seemed to see it—no one else noticed.

They were so focused on the Breach, they didn’t see their leader’s eyes drooping as the magic ripped out of her without restraint. As _his_ magic used her body like a vessel, carrying out his will even when he’d never asked for it. Never hoped for it.

It was not supposed to happen this way.

Their companions circled Ellana as she hit the ground, only aware in that moment that something had gone terribly wrong. Now it was their turn to shout at him, insisting he help their Inquisitor—that he do _something_ to fix her. Instead he picked up his orb, welcoming back forgotten magic to his body. He extended a hand toward Corypheus, watching it glow green like the anchor as he sent the false god to the deepest pits of the Fade.

\--

“Leave us.”

She’d lost track of how many times she’d heard that the last few days, uncertain who the words were even being spoken to. All she knew for certain was they were coming from Solas and they were spoken with a sorrow she couldn’t quite comprehend.

 _What’s wrong?_ She wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come out. It was like she was floating inside her body, unable to move or even open her eyes.

It occurred to her that was likely the answer to her question— _that_ was what was wrong. What had happened to her?

“You used the orb,” Solas muttered, like he knew what she was thinking.

 _I didn’t mean to._ It was all coming to her in flashes, but she remembered trying to reach out to him. Her body had been overloaded with sensations once it was in her hand, and before she could stop herself, she was holding it up toward the sky.

“I know, vhenan. The blame is mine, not yours. I fear I underestimated our connection.”

What did that even mean? There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Not just what happened, but if they succeeded. If Corypheus was gone, or if she had fallen before the task was completed.

“It is complete,” Solas assured her, running a gentle hand over her forehead. She couldn’t quite feel it—it was only through their connection she knew what he was doing, like an itch she couldn’t quite get to. “He is gone from this world, though I fear the cost was too high.”

 _Am I dying?_ Silence was the answer, which felt like a distinct ‘yes’. Maybe if she were conscious she would be panicked by that, but in her haze she felt oddly calm. _I’m not ready to die._

“Nor am I ready to lose you. What we have hasn’t yet begun.” If she could smile, she would have upon hearing those words. “There is a reason only alphas are mages. The amount of magic that coursed through your body was far too much for an omega’s composition. I can only think of one thing to save you now.”

The fact he hadn’t done it on his own would have been alarming under normal circumstances. How bad could it be?

“It’s irreversible. You would be bound to me in a way that is far deeper than you may be prepared to handle.”

 _Do it,_ she willed him, not ready to leave him so soon.

If the battle was won, the Inquisition did not need her anymore. Solas did though, just as she needed him. There was no way it was time for them to part yet when so much had still gone unsaid.

“I fear I am too selfish to attempt to dissuade you.”

Before she could think about what that meant, or come up with any sort of question, she felt the strangest thing. It was like a tickle at first, grazing over her neck as his body hovered over her limp form. After a moment, she realized what it was—he was licking her there. Nipping at her neck gently before latching onto it like a lifeline.

Desperately, she wanted to arch her body up against his. To tilt her head to the side and grant him better access. To run a hand along the back of his neck and pull him as close as he would allow. She wanted to savor the feeling of his lips on her body until she was ready to beg for something more.

None of that was possible though.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he breathed against her, one more delicate kiss on the curve of her neck.

_I don’t want to leave you. Please, Solas._

His teeth grazed her skin once more, deeper this time and it was only then that she truly felt it. Her eyes shot open, and she gasped like she was coming up for air. The only thing keeping her from bolting upright was the weight of his body on top of hers as he lapped at the wound he’d just created on her neck.

“What…what was that?”

“I have bonded us together,” Solas answered shortly.

“Like in the books? We’re…mates?”

“Similar to that, yes. Relax now, vhenan. Let me help you,” he said, and before she could ask what that meant, she felt all the aches and pains leaving her body. The overwhelming drained sensation flooded away with it, causing her to frown as sweat beaded on his forehead. “You are mine now, as is your pain.”

“You took my pain?”

“Yes.”

“I was dying, Solas!” she exclaimed, mouth agape. “You can’t—”

“I will be fine,” he interjected firmly, rolling off her and settling by her side. “My body was built to endure the magic that may have consumed you.”

She shifted onto her side, eyeing him skeptically. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive, though if you wish to lay here with me a while longer, I won’t object.”

“Of course,” Ellana agreed with a small smile. “We really won?”

“Yes, thanks to you. The Breach is sealed.”

“And the orb?”

“Intact.”

“I’m really yours now?”

“We belong to each other,” he clarified, mirroring her small smile. “I had hoped to court you properly once this was all over. It was not meant to happen this way.”

“I did imagine all this would be a bit more…romantic,” she admitted, though she shrugged at the end of it when he frowned. “The result would have been the same. Maybe we can just do things out of order.”

“I suppose we have little choice.”

Ellana stared at him a moment, a whirlwind of emotions hitting her all at once. _His_ emotions. “You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“You don’t even know what it is to be bonded, yet I’ve claimed you as my own.”

“You saved me!”

“After my magic nearly killed you.”

“It wasn’t like you were controlling the orb. It acted on its own!”

“It acted on my intent. The intent it felt through the mark on your hand,” Solas revealed, grimacing at his own words. “It was as if you were a puppet, enacting my will before I could think to stop it.”

“Solas…” Everything he was feeling, she could feel too. It was nearly overwhelming, moreso than their old connection had been. The sensation was similar, but magnified now—more detailed. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I wasn’t even supposed to have the mark in the first place.”

“No, you were not. Corypheus should have died in the initial blast when he unlocked it.”

“And then you would’ve retrieved the orb.”

His gaze dropped as he confirmed, “Yes.”

“What were you planning to do?” she asked slowly, his thoughts on the subject fuzzy somehow—like they were in the shadows of his mind, just out of her reach. “Solas?”

“I intended to regain my strength before becoming the monster the Dalish believe me to be.”

She frowned when she saw how serious he was, eyes narrowing slightly. “And now?”

“Just as it was your duty to seal the Breach, it is my duty to restore my People to what they once were,” he told her.

“How do we do that?”

“The simplest way would be to tear down the Veil. Unfortunately, that would destroy the world as you know it.”

That had been his plan, she realized, barely believing it. This kind, considerate elf had intended to sacrifice her entire world to restore his own. The same elf who had looked after her through every injury—assisted her in _saving_ the world. The one who taught her so much about herself and her history.

There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that Solas—Fen’harel—was not the evil god her people had believed for so long. More concerning than that though, was a simple conclusion she hadn’t considered even once.

Just because he wasn’t an evil god didn’t mean he had no blood on his hands. It didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to go to great lengths to achieve his goals, clearly. Where would he draw the line now that they were bonded?

“There has to be another way.”

\--

In his younger years, the idea of finding a mate and bonding had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. It wasn’t until he’d grown into what was considered adulthood in his time that he decided it wasn’t in the cards for him—not with the type of goals he had. He was too rebellious. A mate would potentially get caught in the crossfire of the many conflicts he was caught between.

Before he ruled it out though, he’d imagined something fairly traditional.

Once he found an acceptable omega, he would indulge them. Take them out to see every single marvel in the ancient cities. He would buy them books and trinkets to show his affection. Then, if things were going well still, he might accept an invitation to spend a heat cycle together.

At that point their chemistry would be all but confirmed. A discussion of mating would occur, and they would proceed. The actual bite would have taken place in an intimate moment—the kind that would make an omega’s heart race.

Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to be forced to mate an omega he’d accidentally tethered himself to many months passed. Then again, he’d never dreamed of Arlathan’s fall.

“She deserves better,” he murmured to himself, running a hand over his face dismally.

And yet he wouldn’t undo it, given the chance. He loved her, and he would save her at every opportunity regardless of the cost.

She smiled a little as she entered his study, drawing his undivided attention. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. I’ve had no luck with any of these texts.”

“I just checked in with Leliana. She hasn’t had any luck securing the new texts yet.”

“Perhaps it’s time to branch out on our own,” Solas suggested, studying her reaction carefully.

They’d had their victory celebration already, and then a second one when Ellana was fully recovered and able to enjoy herself. Cassandra was being named Divine, which was a bit laughable to him, but perhaps that was why no one asked for his opinion on the matter. The Inquisition was set to become a peace keeping force in her name now that the conflict had ended.

What was stopping them from going on their own ‘peace keeping’ mission? No one needed to know the Inquisitor had gone off for her own reasons. It wasn’t as if the organization’s goals were dependent on her anymore.

Ellana seemed open to considering it carefully. “What if they need me?”

“Leliana will know how to find us, no doubt.”

“And we can come back if something goes wrong?”

“Of course. We’re just going on a hunt for information, vhenan. I suspect the furthest we need to go is Tevinter.”

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Ellana responded, gesturing down at herself like he was supposed to understand. He did, of course, through their bond—that didn’t stop his eyes from following the motion, appreciating her lithe form at every opportunity. “I’m an elf.”

“An astute observation.”

She scowled. “You know what I mean. It’s bad enough not being a mage and going to Tevinter. I’ll be mistaken for a slave in minutes.”

“You are the Inquisitor. You bow to no one,” Solas reminded her shortly. “When did you begin to doubt yourself like this?”

“Honestly? I know I wasn’t Inquisitor for that long, really, but it felt like it became a part of me.”

“And now the world needs no Inquisitor. You feel lost,” he realized with a frown. She didn’t deny it, already having learned in their short time as mates there was no point. “Come here, vhenan.”

She walked toward him without hesitation, face far more somber than he preferred to see. It wasn’t until he reached for her hips and lifted her onto his desk that she smiled, lighting up further when he stepped between her legs and cradled her face between his hands.

“What you’re feeling is valid. Many great heroes in history felt the same once their battles ended,” he told her. “Do you know what happens to the ones who don’t let go even after the victory’s been won?”

“They look for another fight.”

“Until they find one,” Solas confirmed. Somehow they _always_ found another, even if it meant starting one on their own. Otherwise they would seek the next elevated role—and so the general became king, and the king became god. “I will not see you fall into that cycle. We already have our next goal. If another conflict finds us on the way, so be it.”

A safe way to tear down the Veil and restore the elven people. It seemed like an impossible plan, but it was one he couldn’t dismiss without putting in substantial effort. Entering the Fade and tearing down the Veil would have been a simple matter now that he had his foci, but it was clear Ellana would never forgive such an endeavor. He had to at least _try._

If they could track down the right information, there might be a method he hadn’t considered.

“You really don’t think we’ll succeed, do you?” Ellana asked, studying him carefully.

“Optimism is your strongsuit. I tend to be grim and fatalistic.”

“You would destroy this world even after we just saved it?”

“It is a burden I am willing to bear, yes. Would you not do the same if it meant saving your people?”

She frowned. “You still don't consider yourself one of us?"

“No, I do not. I do not think as poorly of your people as I once did now that I understand, but that does not change the simple fact we are from different worlds.”

He could feel her displeasure, but there was nothing he could do to change how he felt. Lying served no purpose in their current relationship.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispered, sincerity in each word. “Let that be enough.”

“I love this world. It’s not perfect, but it’s still beautiful in its own way.”

“I understand how you feel.”

“But you think yours was better.”

“Not better—different. My world was intrinsically tied to the Fade before the Veil. There were many marvels that you may not even believe possible,” Solas explained, his voice almost whimsical. “Knowledge ran deeper among the People, and magic was endless. We need not rely on lyrium potions or rest in order to act. Some spells took years to cast. Echoes would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in an unending symphony.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It was. Waking up in this world, it was like walking through a world of Tranquil."

"We aren't even people to you?"

"Not at first. You showed me I was wrong...again." He let out a short sigh, uncertain how to ease the concern he felt in their bond. It seemed she understood; if they could not find an alternative, he would do what must be done to restore his people. "I take no joy in what I must do."

"You're talking like it's inevitable still."

"Even if we find a way to safely bring down the Veil, it may not be possible for our people to coexist peacefully."

"You said you had a plan for the Evanuris."

"I do," he said simply. It was the only part of his plan he was certain of; they would not rise to power again. "They will be weak when the Veil is torn down."

"You're going to kill them," she realized, eyes widening. "The gods of my people?"

He scoffed. "They are no gods. I thought you understood as much."

"I do. That doesn't mean my people do! They'll rise against you. Against  _us."_

"Precisely why a peaceful coexistence may not be possible. I suspect the humans and dwarves will be threatened by our return, too."

"You're planning for a war."

"No, vhenan. I have you on my side."

She raised a brow, her contemplation as captivating as always. He just stared a moment, letting her piece it together herself. Letting her realize that while the world needed no Inquisitor now, it might in the days to come. There was no doubt in his mind she could bring a strange mix of people together just as she done the first time around. The only thing that might stop her was  _him._ She would sooner drop to her knees before him than attempt to see him punished for any wrongdoing, and the rest of the world would not accept such leniency when faced with an impending war.

History would remember Fen'harel as the villain, again, regardless of how his plan came to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments and kudos!


End file.
